Post Tenebras, Lux
by Loten
Summary: "After Darkness, Light." A chance meeting ten years after the war may not be just a coincidence, and may prove to have very far-reaching consequences. A story of many things, but primarily of healing. SS/HG; rated M for later chapters. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**POST TENEBRAS, LUX (_After Darkness, Light._)**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: _**_If I owned any of them, believe me, things would have ended rather differently. I'm just borrowing them for a while; sadly, I have to give them back eventually.  
_

_**Warnings: **Eventual SS/HG romance, eventual M rating, eventual lemons. Don't like, don't read. But the key word is 'eventual' - this is a long story. Around 300,000 words long, in fact._

_**Author's Notes: **This story begins ten years after the end of Deathly Hallows. It is fully canon compliant except for Snape's death and most of the Epilogue-That-Must-Not-Be-Acknowledged. __Chapter lengths will vary; I write novel-style so parts don't always break down easily into separate chapters.__ I will be updating around once a week, but not on a set day - every time I have tried to commit to a regular update schedule, something has gone wrong and stopped it. Instead my updates are determined by my mood, my review count, and certain friends prodding me - you guys know who you are! See, I told you I'd start this before Christmas, didn't I? I will respond to every signed review. Criticism is accepted if it's constructive. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

  
_

**"Serendipity is the gift of finding things we did not know we were looking for."**  
– Glauco Ortolano

* * *

Waterloo Station during rush hour was always total and utter chaos. Really, Hermione thought as she dodged through the crowds, she was a fool to be here. It wasn't as if she even needed to use Muggle transport anyway, and given that it was the summer holidays there was no reason for her to be travelling at all. Threading her way through the hordes gathered beneath the big screens showing the arrivals and departures, she wasn't paying any attention to her surroundings, focusing entirely on getting out of the station and finding a cup of coffee that wouldn't cost the earth; as a result of this inattention, she walked straight into someone as she rounded the corner of a newspaper kiosk.

The man she'd just collided with hissed sharply, jerking back to try and avoid spilling his own coffee. She looked up and her apology died on her lips, unspoken, as she saw his face; scowling, he looked down at her, and his snarled injunction to watch where she was going cut off mid-syllable. The two of them stared at one another in stunned silence as her mind scrambled to try and make sense of what she was seeing; it felt as if the world had tilted on its axis.

She had never had much luck interpreting the emotions in those dark eyes, save for icy anger, contemptuous disdain or malicious amusement, but now she read an instant of pure shock, followed rapidly by dismay that faded equally rapidly into resigned weariness. She took a moment to look up at him, struggling to take in what had just happened. In some ways he looked the same as he had the last time she had seen him, in other ways far different.

That distinctive hooked nose was still more or less the same, although its line was slightly distorted from what looked like an old break, but other features had changed. Ever the dentist's daughter, she noticed that he had apparently finally attempted to fix his teeth, which were no longer yellowed although still somewhat crooked. The greasy hair that had practically been his trademark was certainly cleaner now, although it still hung in slightly lank curtains around his face; there was a thin streak of white above his left eye and the end of a scar showed at his hairline. One or two grey hairs wound through the black, but not many. His skin was still pale but not quite as sallow as she remembered; bereft of his robes, she saw how thin he was. His face looked gaunt, and the shadows beneath his eyes were deep. He looked... tired.

He was dressed in Muggle clothing, and unlike many wizards actually looked at home in it. His jeans were worn, faded, fraying around the bottoms and with a hole in one knee; he wore black boots and a black t-shirt spattered with what looked like paint. Not what she would have expected to see. There was an elastic sports bandage on his left arm, extending from beneath his sleeve over his elbow and half way to his wrist. As her eyes travelled to his face once more, she saw the two faded, jagged scars on his throat; she had been there when he received those wounds. It really was him.

_Now I've really lost it. I'm starting to hallucinate. Snape is dead. _She should know; she had watched him die, almost ten years ago now. Yet the resemblance was uncanny – oh, there were new scars, and he looked older, but whoever the man was he looked very much as she would imagine Severus Snape to appear had he survived. And it was uncomfortably true that his body had never been recovered. By the time it had occurred to anyone to retrieve him from the Shack – to their collective shame, that hadn't been until almost a day after the battle had ended – there was nothing there but a large bloodstain and the fragments of his broken wand.

There had been searches over the years, she remembered as she stared at the man. Mostly out of guilt, as the Order slowly began to realise just how much the world owed him. No trace had ever been found, and they had finally given up. Surely nobody could remain hidden for a decade when half the wizarding world were searching – it had attracted more media coverage than Elvis sightings – yet she found herself wondering how well a professional spy could hide himself, if he truly did not wish to be found.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked quietly, without any real emotion behind the words. The voice was almost exactly the same as she remembered, the same cool silken drawl, perhaps slightly quieter and with a faintly husky quality, and without the note of hostility she associated with him.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Hermione stared at him. "It really is you, isn't it?" she marvelled softly. "You're really here."

"Unless I am having a nightmare," he replied sarcastically, "and whilst that is hardly a rare occurrence, I highly doubt that I have started to dream about you, Miss Granger. I haven't quite lost my mind yet."

Well, that was the Snape she remembered. "I'm surely allowed to be a little shocked," she retorted. "Until two minutes ago I thought you were dead." There were so many questions buzzing through her mind that she herself had no idea which one would make it out first when she spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, then looked around the crowded station and gestured vaguely with a long-fingered hand. "Look around. Do you think any of these people have noticed us? Do you think any of them are thinking of anything beyond their next destination?"

That wasn't exactly what she had been asking, but she could see his point. There was something anonymous about being in the midst of a crowd. Following the gesture of his hand, she looked around them, and saw him move out of the corner of her eye; stiffening, she spun back to face him, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't be foolish. I am hardly going to draw my wand and hex you in the middle of Waterloo. Besides, if I intended to harm you I would have done so immediately I recognised you, while you were still gaping like a fish."

"You were as surprised as I was," she snapped, stung. He didn't reply; instead he turned abruptly and began walking away through the crowd. Taken by surprise, she was frozen for a moment before scrambling to follow him; as she caught up with his long strides, she noticed that he was limping. "Wait!"

"Whatever for?" he asked in a bored tone.

"I want to talk to you."

"And what on earth makes you suppose that I would want to talk to you?" he asked, turning to face her. "In fact, I –" His eyes tracked to something over her shoulder and narrowed as he stopped talking abruptly; turning to see what he was looking at, she caught movement and looked back in time to see him disappearing into the crowd.

_I can't believe I just fell for that, _she told herself in disgust, knowing that there was absolutely no point in following him and yet doing so anyway. He was closer to the exit than she was; he'd find somewhere out of sight and Disapparate. She'd never catch him. Still utterly stunned by what had happened, she pushed through the crowd in the direction he had gone, trying to wrap her mind around this. _After all this time... Snape's alive.

* * *

_Despite her best efforts, she lost him in the crowds of rush hour in London, and finally abandoned the attempt and headed for home in an extremely thoughtful frame of mind. One thing was certain; if Snape was out in public in London, then it was a very long way from wherever he was actually living. If he hadn't been found in over nine years, it was because he didn't want to be. And she could hardly blame him; after Voldemort, he was almost certainly the most hated wizard in the world. It wasn't fair, she knew that now, but until seeing the contents of the memories he had given Harry for herself she had hated him as much as anyone.

Very few people had seen those memories, in the end. Harry had insisted on that. Privacy seemed the least they could do for the man now – although admittedly Harry had blurted out the biggest secret in front of the entire battlefield; fortunately the wizarding public as a whole still didn't know. Less than a dozen people had seen any of the memories; Hermione was one of the very few who had seen them all. They had cleared his name as best they could, declaring that they had evidence proving that Snape had been on their side after all and publishing a transcript of the conversation when Albus had requested that Snape be the one to kill him and explained why, but the loss of Dumbledore and the horrors that had been perpetuated at Hogwarts during the final year of the war had left scars too deep to heal. As far as most of the wizarding world was concerned, Snape was a villain whose death had been too easy.

The surviving members of the Order saw things differently now. As Headmistress, McGonagall had spent long hours conferring with Dumbledore's portrait and those of the other former leaders of Hogwarts; they had confirmed everything, and slowly the Order had realised just how much they owed the man they had all hated for so many years. Without him, it was certain that they would have lost. In the course of those discussions, more had been revealed than any of them had ever wanted to know about just what he had endured for them – "_and I was certainly not privy to the worst of it,_" Albus had said sadly. "_He would never talk about it and never once asked for help._"

Thinking of the portraits brought Hermione's mind back to that very subject. Whatever the circumstances, Snape had legitimately been Headmaster for a year, recognised by Hogwarts itself. Unlike Umbridge, who had found certain areas sealed to her, the castle had acknowledged Snape as its master. If he had been killed in the Shack, he would have died in office, and his portrait would surely have appeared in the office with the others. Albus had refused to either confirm or deny this theory, probably because he genuinely didn't know rather than out of contrariness, and in the end they had stopped dwelling on it. Stopped searching. They had given up on him – again.

They had only been searching out of guilt anyway, she acknowledged to herself over the next few days. It had been almost with relief that they had reached the decision to abandon the search. None of them had really wanted to find him. What would they have said? "Oops, sorry"? No, perhaps it was better that he remain dead.

And now she had seen him, alive and – certainly not well, but as well as could be expected in the circumstances. The question was what should she do about it? If she could persuade anyone that she wasn't crazy and that it had been a legitimate sighting, what then? It was very doubtful that the Ministry would find him. They were more efficient now than they had been before the war, but not by much, certainly not enough to track down a spy who had spent most of his life learning how to hide. Searching privately was unlikely to be any more successful. He simply didn't want to be found.

Or did he? _I'm hardly qualified to know what he might be thinking. I don't think anyone ever has. _That was a problem. If he didn't want to be found, surely it would be kinder to respect his wishes and leave him to whatever life he had carved out for himself. But he deserved so much better than that. In the end, Hermione decided, she would try to find him on her own, in her own time. If she succeeded, then she would worry about what to do with the knowledge.

* * *

"Harry, it's me."

"Hello, Hermione! What's up?"

"Listen, I need a favour. It's going to sound a little strange, though."

"Go on."

"I need a copy of everything the Ministry has on Snape."

"Why?"

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"Well... I think he's still alive. I want to try and find him."

There was a long silence. "Hermione..."

"I know it sounds insane. I know it's probably impossible, after all this time. That's why I'm not making this official. This is just something for me to do to pass the time until term starts again – call it a pet project if you like. Please, Harry."

"You really think he's alive?"

"I'm positive. I'm not sure I can find him, but I think it's worth trying. Will you help?"

"You know I will. I'll send it over as soon as I can. Let me know if you find anything."

"I will. Thanks, Harry. Don't tell anyone else yet, though, please? I'm probably wrong about this."

"Okay. Good luck."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to need it."

* * *

Where should she start her search? At least she knew he was in Britain still, or had been. Thinking like that was counterproductive; if she had to search further than Britain's borders, she would never find him. It wouldn't be anywhere in London, and nowhere with even a small wizarding presence. He probably wouldn't be in any of the larger settlements, although she couldn't be absolutely sure – she couldn't be sure of anything, really, not where this man was concerned.

She spent the next few days reviewing what was known about him – which wasn't much – and recalling what she had personally observed over the years – which was even less. He was the most secretive man she had ever encountered; she had learned more about him in ten minutes of staring into a Pensieve than she had learned in seven years of knowing him. If he had had any ties to his former home in Spinner's End, they would do him no good; when the Ministry had checked the address a few weeks after the war ended, it had been burned to the ground. It couldn't be proved, but the general consensus had been that it was unlikely to have been Snape who had done it. His colleagues had agreed that it was too dramatic, too obvious.

It seemed likely that he was living as a Muggle. He had been wearing Muggle clothing when she saw him, and clearly hadn't had access to a Healer since the end of the war. To live in the Muggle world, he would need identification, a false name perhaps. That gave her an advantage over anyone else who might be looking; as a Muggle-born, she had a better idea of how to look for him, and she settled in front of her computer a week after that first sighting and connected to the Internet. No matter how good he was at hiding, she doubted he would know how to conceal himself electronically.

Unsurprisingly, there was no recent record of anyone named Severus Snape. Hermione had known that, but thought it worth checking anyway. Searching for just Snape found several matches, including the record of his parents' deaths, but he would be using a different name. Thoughtfully tapping a finger on the keyboard, she stared blankly at the screen, thinking hard. Snape was a creature of habit, or at least he had been when she had known him, and she knew many people when creating an alias generally ended up with something connected to their true identity whether by accident or design. _The Half-Blood Prince... _She picked up her notes again, and ten minutes later ran a search for the name Tobias Prince.

* * *

It took her a week to systematically go through the addresses she had found. This was the last possibility on her list, and as she stared at the building she felt her heart sink. It seemed her guess had been wrong; she'd have to come up with another name to search for. This couldn't be it; wherever Severus Snape was hiding, it seemed very unlikely that it would be here. _Although I suppose it would certainly be the last place anyone would look. _She suppressed a smile; what had she been expecting, some crumbling Gothic mansion? Taking a breath, she walked into the lobby and approached the overweight, balding man behind the desk.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Tobias Prince?"

He grunted. "Oh, him. He's parked other side of the site. Lot 57." Without taking his eyes from the newspaper, he handed her a grubby piece of paper that turned out to be a crude map of the caravan site. "He don't like people, if you're selling stuff or whatever."

"Has he been staying here long?"

"Couple of years, maybe. Van's his, he just pays rent for the ground. Don't see him around much." Pointedly turning the page of his paper, he made it clear that the conversation was over.

Hermione studied the crude map and followed the road through the site to a distant corner where a battered old caravan was parked, its generally shabby appearance in sharp contrast to the fairly well maintained site surrounding it. _This _was Snape's hideout? Lurking on the other side of the road under a Disillusion charm, she watched the van for some time. If this was where he was hiding, she was surprised that it wasn't hidden; there weren't even the most basic Muggle-repelling charms protecting it. This couldn't be right. She was about to give up when an equally battered-looking old jeep rumbled past her and pulled onto the patch of bare ground beside the van.

It was Snape. His limp seemed worse today as he got out of the car and locked the door, unlocked the caravan and went inside. She stayed where she was as darkness began to fall, armed with her old and now somewhat battered Omnioculars, and settled herself on the opposite side of the dirt road to watch the van intently.

Late in the evening, when she was half asleep and had almost convinced herself that this was a mistake, the side door opened and he stepped outside onto the folding steps and lit a cigarette. As far as she knew, Snape didn't smoke, but then again he could have been on fifty a day and she wouldn't necessarily have known. They had all spent so long discussing him and his past in such depth that she had to stop and remind herself that really, she knew virtually nothing about him, and she suspected that nobody had ever really known the _real _Snape.

Lifting the Omnioculars, she pressed the button for the night vision mode and focused on him, and felt her breath catch. He was wearing a plain grey T-shirt; the neck was low enough that she could see the two ragged scars on his throat, clearly visible against his pale skin. As if that wasn't enough confirmation, the short sleeves showed his arms, and as he lifted the cigarette to his lips she focused on the inside of his left forearm. The Dark Mark too had faded with the years, but it was still faintly visible.

The Hermione that he had once called an insufferable know-it-all would have charged up to the door instantly to speak with him. She was older now, and hopefully wiser, and chose to walk away instead. That was the deal she had made with herself; find him first, then work out what to do with the knowledge. Inside, her thoughts were in turmoil; _I've found Severus Snape._

_

* * *

And so it begins... A happy Christmas to all of you, or other winter festival of your choice.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Off to a good start...

* * *

_

**"****The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed****."**  
– Carl Jung

* * *

Several things had struck Hermione as strange about the discovery once she stopped to think about it. The sheer lack of secrecy, for one; once she started looking in earnest, he hadn't been terribly difficult to find. His choice of alias had been obvious once she'd thought about it. The caravan was not protected or concealed magically in any way, although she had avoided going too close; it was quite probable that there were some nasty defensive wards in place. Even so, something seemed off; this was Severus Snape, the man who had been a spy and a double agent through two wars, and yet here he was out in the open. It didn't make sense. He could have hidden himself far more cleverly; so why hadn't he? Why had he been openly wandering through Waterloo Station during rush hour? And why, now that she knew he was alive, had he not moved or hidden himself?

This was where it broke down. She simply didn't know him well enough to even hazard a guess. Nobody did, really; even old colleagues who had worked with him for twenty years hadn't been much help in earlier searches. He must have known that he risked being spotted, walking around so openly, so presumably that had been his intention all along; it seemed he wanted someone to discover that he was still alive. And if he hadn't taken steps to hide himself now that she knew... There were several possible explanations, she decided finally. One, he simply didn't believe she was clever enough to work it out. Two, he didn't believe she would bother searching for him. Or three... he wanted to be found.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her phone rang, startling her. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," Harry's voice greeted her. "Any news?"

"I'm not sure," she answered slowly.

"What's happened?"

"Well... I wasn't completely honest with you before. The reason I know that he's still alive is that I saw him."

"_What?_"

"I should have told you, but it hadn't really sunk in when I called you. I was in shock, I suppose. I didn't go looking for him or anything. I was walking through London and I literally ran into him. He gave me the slip, but not before talking to me – reluctantly. It was definitely him. And now... I think I might have found where he's living. But something seems off."

"Off, how?" Harry asked faintly.

"It was too easy." He started laughing, and she felt a smile tugging at her lips. "I know, I know, but hear me out. He was wandering openly through London. He's using a really obvious false name. It's taken me two weeks to track him down – Snape, who the Ministry and the Order have been hunting for ten years. He's not even trying to hide, Harry. There are no concealment spells in place at all, not even a Muggle-repelling charm, and he hasn't tried to change his appearance." Well, aside from one or two minor cosmetic differences, at least. "Does that sound like Snape to you?" she asked.

"When you say it like that, no." She could hear Harry's frown in his voice and could picture him running his fingers through his hair. "So, what, you think this is... I don't know, a trap?"

"I don't think so. There's no reason for that. He doesn't need to lure us in if he wants to make contact and I don't think he'd bother playing games. No, I think this is something else."

"Like what?"

"I think either he doesn't believe anyone would look for him, or he wants to be found. I wondered if he just didn't think we'd be smart enough to find him, but even if he did think that, he wouldn't risk underestimating us. I think he wants to be found."

There was a short silence before he spoke again, sounding thoughtful. "If you're right, where does that leave us?"

"I don't know. I spoke to a... neighbour; he's only been where he is now for a couple of years. I assume he was seriously hiding himself before that, and now I think he wants us to find him."

"Well, this just got complicated, then," he said with a sigh. "Can you come over? This needs more than a phone call."

"Just you and me?"

"And Ginny."

She laughed. "So when I asked you not to tell anyone else..."

He laughed with her. "Ginny doesn't count, you know that."

"All right. I'll be there soon."

* * *

"So you think this is some sort of challenge, daring us to work it out?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied slowly. "It might be. I think I need to talk to him properly."

"Is that a good idea? He hates you."

"Harry, he hates all of us," she pointed out. "Who else can go? He definitely won't want to talk to you, you know that. And Ginny..."

"I don't know him well enough," Ginny said, shaking her head. "And I was working against him so hard in that final year, when you weren't there... He hates me, too. I think unless we want to tell everyone else, it's going to have to be Hermione."

"Should we tell anyone else? Kingsley should know..."

"No, not the Ministry, not yet; that's the last thing we need."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded. "What about McGonagall, then?"

"I don't think that's a good idea either. She's never really forgiven Snape," Hermione said regretfully. "I think we need to find out what's happening and why he's suddenly not hiding any more before we get anyone from the Order involved again."

It was Ginny who asked hesitantly, "Do you want to tell Ron?"

Hermione sighed. "Not yet. I don't want to argue, and that's all we ever do these days. You know he found it hard to accept that Snape wasn't a bad guy; he's going to hate this more than anyone else. Let's not tell him until we have to."

"Much as I hate it, you're right," Harry agreed quietly. "So, you're going to go and talk to him?"

"Try to, anyway. I'm not telling you where he is yet. You understand why, don't you?"

He nodded. "So you can tell him truthfully that nobody else knows."

"Yes. I'm not sure if he'll talk to me at all, but if he does and I lie to him and he picks up on it then he's quite likely to hex me into next week."

"Is this going to be dangerous?" Ginny asked.

"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "He wants someone to find him. I doubt he'll be happy to see that it's me, but I'm probably a better option than Harry would be. I annoyed him a lot, but I didn't cause him any specific problems – except for stealing from his supplies in the second year, anyway," she added ruefully. And setting fire to him in the first year, and attacking him in the Shack at the end of the third year... _I was a real delinquent, wasn't I? _ "In any case, he didn't seem in very good shape when I saw him. If it does turn nasty I'll be able to at least get away."

"Be careful, Hermione," Harry cautioned her. "Nobody's ever beaten Snape in a duel, not one on one. He's been living on his own for ten years; he might have gone as loopy as Mad-Eye did."

"I'll be careful."

* * *

The biggest problem was what she should say. That was one of the main reasons why they hadn't tried harder to find Snape; there simply weren't words to apologise for misjudging him so completely for so many years, and he wouldn't have accepted it anyway. She knew that if she could persuade him to talk to her, at some point he was going to ask what she was doing there, why she had come to him. Finding an answer to that was going to be difficult, because she wasn't sure herself. A large part of it was guilt; they all owed him so much and they hadn't really tried to find out what had happened to him. She wanted to make sure he was all right, that he didn't need anything. There was also curiosity; she wanted to find out where he had been all this time and how he had survived. And finally she wanted to somehow try and compensate for the way he had been treated for so long.

_He'll laugh himself into a hernia. _Then _he'll hex me into next week. _

Even so, she had to try. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the bare ground where the caravan was parked and reached across the rickety steps to rap on the door with her knuckles.

After what seemed an eternity she heard uneven footsteps and a shadow appeared on the other side of the frosted panel set into the door. The lock clicked, and for a moment she wanted to run; before she could give in to the impulse, the door swung open and Hermione found herself face to face with her former Potions teacher once more.

His expression didn't change, not even a slight widening of those black eyes betraying his thoughts on seeing her. They stared at one another silently for a moment before he exhaled. "I suppose it is too much to hope for that you would be willing to simply leave."

"I'm afraid not," she replied quietly, feeling the terrible tightness in her throat beginning to ease. He wasn't going to attack her, or he would already have done so.

"Naturally not," he muttered. Turning away without another word, he retreated inside, leaving the door standing open behind him. Choosing to interpret it as an invitation, albeit not a very gracious one, she followed him inside and closed the door, looking around curiously as she entered what turned out to be a small living space containing a pair of old sofas, a table and chairs and a number of cupboards all crowded together. He didn't seem to have magically enlarged the interior of the caravan at all. An old radio was playing in the corner; he turned it down, but not off, and moved into the long and narrow galley-style kitchen before turning to look at her, leaning back and propping his hips against the counter. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her grimly, waiting.

She took a moment to look at him. His weight was to one side, resting mostly on his left leg, but he didn't seem to be in pain as far as she could tell. He didn't look quite as tired as he had done the last time she had seen him, either; that was possibly helped by the edge of wariness in his eyes. "You came alone?" he asked finally; she knew what he was really asking.

"Yes," she replied, and for a moment didn't explain any further, watching the skin tighten at the corners of his eyes; the days when he could render her incoherent with a look were gone. He was as intimidating as ever, but she'd seen too much to be so easily unnerved. Relenting, she told him what she knew he had really wanted to hear. "Nobody knows where this place is, or how I found it. Two people know that I'm here, and why I'm here. Nobody else knows I was even looking, not yet."

He relaxed very slightly, underscoring just how tense he had been, and after a moment his lips twisted into a very familiar sneer. "In essence, then, nobody knows where you are and my life would become much easier if I were to Obliviate you where you stand."

"If you were going to do that you would have done it already," she retorted, "and you certainly wouldn't mention it in advance and give me a warning."

His expression changed subtly, and he drawled, "Ah. As insufferable as ever, I see." Trying not to smile, she watched him reach across the width of the tiny kitchen to the stove and stir the contents of a pot, a faint smell of spices filling the room before he replaced the lid. Settling against the counter again, he looked her over with his usual expression of faint disdain. "The two are Potter and Weasley, I assume?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You said that there are two people who know what you are doing," he elaborated with exaggerated patience, scowling slightly. "Potter and Weasley?"

She shook her head. "Potter and Potter, actually," she replied.

His scowl deepened to a frown, his black eyes growing distant for a moment before he focused on her once more. "Ginevra?"

"Ginny, yes." She frowned in turn. "I didn't realise you knew about that."

He smiled mirthlessly, the expression more than half a sneer. "I could have lived without knowing. Sadly one of the side effects of constantly gathering information is that some of it is less than pleasant." He shook his head, critically examined the contents of the saucepan on the stove, sighed and switched it off. "I suppose I should not be surprised that Potter never got over his Oedipus complex."

"What?"

"You don't find it at all distasteful that he married a woman who differs from his mother almost solely in eye colour?" he inquired, his lip curling. The fact that he had referred to Lily, even indirectly, made Hermione pause before she answered truthfully.

"Actually I was surprised that you know what an Oedipus complex is... sir."

He gave her a faintly exasperated look. "I haven't been your teacher in eleven years, Miss Granger – unless it's Mrs Weasley now?" he added nastily, looking her up and down. "No ring, though."

"It's still Miss Granger, and it's none of your business," she answered tartly, trying very hard not to blush. She hadn't realised he knew about _that, _either.

"I have little to do these days save read," he said calmly. "Greek mythology and psychology are both interesting subjects." It took her a moment to realise that he was responding to her earlier comment about Oedipus. There seemed nothing else to say, and she watched silently as he opened a cupboard door to reveal a tiny fridge and removed a carton of orange juice. Taking a glass from a cupboard, he paused and glanced sideways at her; it took her a moment to catch on, but she nodded and he took a second glass down, pouring drinks for them both.

"Thank you," she said softly as she took the glass, sipping gratefully. He didn't respond, moving back into the small living room area and reaching up to switch off a black and white TV playing silently from on top of a cupboard. She watched him settle himself carefully on one of the sofas, turning his body to ease his right leg up along the edge of the cushions; looking up, he met her gaze and raised an eyebrow before jerking his head towards the other sofa.

Sitting down, Hermione took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Your leg is damaged?" she asked softly.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Most of me is damaged," he replied sarcastically, "one way or another."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. The knee has very limited mobility, though." He took a sip of juice, transferring his gaze to the joint in question. "Cumulative damage," he said finally, answering the question she didn't quite have the courage to ask him. "I received a number of injuries to my right leg over the years. It weakened the joint. At the end... in the Shack, I... assume I fell awkwardly and caused further damage. By the time I managed to treat my injuries, this was the best I could do."

"Is your voice because of...?" She trailed off and when he looked at her she brushed her fingers over her throat.

"Yes," he replied, scowling. "Is my medical history really any of your business?"

"Given your reasons for incurring those injuries, and given that I was there in the Shack at the end, yes, I would say it is," she replied, and for the first time since she had known the man she had the dubious pleasure of seeing Severus Snape caught totally off guard.

"How much do you know?" he asked softly. His voice was dangerously calm; in classes that tone had usually come just seconds before he tore shreds off whichever student had been unfortunate enough to draw his wrath.

"Everything you gave Harry," she answered quietly, "corroborated by Albus' portrait." His jaw tightened and he looked away, a muscle jumping in his cheek. "If it makes you feel better," she offered, "very few people saw any of it. Nobody outside the Order. And only a couple of us saw everything." Although admittedly a lotof people had _heard_ Harry yelling at Voldemort about Snape's feelings for his mother; she wisely decided not to mention that.

He didn't reply; she watched his hands as he set his glass down and slowly raised his right hand to rest lightly on his left arm. Evidently her attempt at reassurance hadn't made him feel better; he also still apparently retained his old nervous habit of touching the Mark during uncomfortable conversations that she had observed many years ago.

It was almost ten minutes later when he spoke again, but the silence hadn't been uncomfortable on her part. He didn't seem particularly hostile, somewhat surprisingly; the situation was a little awkward, but not as frightening as she had thought. "Well? Why are you here?"

That was the question she had known was coming. "To decide what to do next," she replied simply.

He looked at her, scowling slightly, and she elaborated. "Once I knew you were alive, I wanted to talk to you before we decide whether anyone else should know. And I wanted to find out what happened to you."

Snape sneered, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. "Wait for my autobiography, Miss Granger."

She finished her juice and set the glass down, looking at him. "How did you survive?" she asked bluntly, deciding that the time had come for questions of her own.

He sighed, looking tired once more as his sneer faded. "I have no wish to play Twenty Questions with you. Is there no chance at all that you will simply walk away and leave me in peace?"

Hermione took a gamble. "If you truly wanted to be left alone you would have hidden yourself more thoroughly." A tic jumped at the corner of his eye and he looked away as her words struck home.

The silence dragged out for several minutes, broken only by the faint sound of the radio still playing to itself. "Luck," he said finally.

"I'm sorry?"

"How I survived. It was luck." Avoiding eye contact, he settled back against the sofa and stared upwards at the ceiling. "I have not yet decided whether it was good or bad luck."

"There must be more to it than that. I saw your injuries. We couldn't find a pulse."

"I am astounded that you bothered to check," he replied sourly. "I am, however, not surprised that you did not find a pulse. I am reasonably certain that there was no pulse to find. I believe I was clinically dead for several minutes. I don't know how long; I seem to recall reading once that the brain can only survive six minutes without oxygen before the damage becomes too severe, but that may be wrong."

"How did you survive?" she repeated.

"After Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini in the Ministry, I was one of those responsible for his treatment..." he began slowly.

"I didn't know that," she interrupted, surprised.

"Nobody did except Dumbledore and one of the healers. That was the point," he replied dryly. "In any case, I was unable to devise a perfect treatment but I did manage a partial antivenin. Based on my work with him, I concocted what I hoped was a reasonable facsimile of Nagini's poison – naturally, I was not permitted to analyse the real thing. I dosed myself with the synthesised venom in an attempt to build up tolerance, something I did with many poisons, and at all times I carried with me a number of potions including a bezoar derivative of my own devising, Blood-Replenishing potion, common antidotes and other healing potions. A first aid kit, if you like, designed to attempt to be ready for whatever might happen."

She frowned. He saw it and continued softly, "I always expected to die. It was inevitable. The only doubt was in the time and the method. As it happens, that kit allowed me to survive on more than one occasion. Still, it was not a perfect solution, as you can see."

"You seem all right," she said without thinking. He raised an eyebrow, an almost bitter expression darkening his eyes still further.

"You," he replied heavily, "do not know what you are talking about. As usual," he added nastily, but the insult lacked any real venom. He seemed tired again, and his fingers hadn't stopped absently tracing his forearm where the Mark was concealed by his sleeve.

"I can't be as ignorant as all that," she countered. "I found you, didn't I?" Hermione recognised his scowl. It was the expression he had worn in class when he hadn't been able to find anything to criticise. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he didn't answer. Gathering her courage, she moved on to the next question. "Where did you go, after the Shack?"

She hadn't really expected him to answer, but he did, still in an oddly talkative mood. "Here and there, at first, finding temporary hiding places while I healed. Then I left the country. I spent some time in Asia, later in America. Not doing anything. Travelling. Seeing the world," he added with heavy irony in his voice. His eyes were closed now, the edges of his words softening; he sounded almost drunk, and she wondered what medication he was taking at the moment and what it was doing to him.

"You came here two years ago," she prompted softly when he stopped speaking. He opened his eyes and looked at her, before sighing.

"My ostensible landlord talks too much. Yes, I did. I returned to Britain three years ago, moving from place to place. Got tired of it all. Hitched around the country for a few months, saw the caravan for sale. Bought it and a car, drove around a bit, found this place. Decided it would do. Parked here. End of story." His sentences were growing shorter and the story was more disjointed. "Any more questions?"

"Not right now," she answered slowly, certain that something wasn't quite right. "I don't think I should stay any longer. But I haven't made my decision yet. Would it be all right if I came back to talk to you another time?"

"Is there any way I could stop you that wouldn't result in my arrest?"

That was the closest she was likely to get to acceptance. Deciding not to push her luck any further, she nodded and stood up. "Thank you for talking to me."

* * *

"Well? How did it go?" Harry asked eagerly when she returned. He frowned. "You look odd. What happened? Did he... I dunno, attack you or something?"

"No," Hermione answered slowly, frowning. "It was... Again, it was too easy. He let me in without a problem, answered my questions. Oh, he was as unpleasant as ever, but I don't think he really meant it. It was really strange."

"Was he all right?" Ginny asked.

"No," she repeated, certainty in her voice. "No, he definitely wasn't all right." She described his injuries, the ones she knew about, and repeated what he'd told her about what had happened to him.

"And he told you all this freely?" Harry asked. "That's not right. You're sure it was Snape, and not some nutter messing around?"

"It was definitely him. I think he's ill, or he's been ill recently; I think he was on some kind of medication. Towards the end, his voice changed, and if I hadn't been there for the past hour I would have thought he was drunk. I suppose that made him a bit more talkative, but there's more to it."

"Like what?"

"I'm almost certain now that he wanted to be found. He mentioned getting tired of it all, before moving to where he is now. When you think about it... He's been alone and on the run for ten years. That must do strange things to someone's mind."

"You think he's what, gone crazy?"

"No. Definitely not that. No... I just think he's been very lonely for a very long time. He seemed like it was almost a relief to talk to someone."

"I suppose that makes sense," Harry agreed slowly. "I mean, the counselling we got after the war wasn't much, but at least we were offered some sort of treatment. If he's been shut inside his head with his memories for a decade... I guess he would be a little weird."

"What will you do now?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know. I'm going to go back and talk to him again, find out if it was just a one-off or if his mind has slipped or something. I have more questions I want to ask him, anyway. When we know what state he's in, maybe we can come up with something. But... we owe him. All of us. The Order, the Ministry, the whole wizarding world. I want to try and find out what he wants; to see if we can pay him back a little. He's back for a reason; I just don't know what it is yet."

"And you've never been able to resist a puzzle," Harry added, laughing slightly. She tried to glare at him, but he was right. Snape had always been an enigma, and now she had a chance to crack it.

She couldn't wait.

_

* * *

Next chapter shortly after the New Year.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Happy New Year, everyone.  


* * *

_

**"****Doubt grows with knowledge****."**  
– von Goethe

* * *

When Hermione returned a week later, she found him standing beside the caravan, smoking a cigarette. He didn't seem particularly surprised to see her, the only reaction a slight narrowing of his eyes as she walked over to him. "I didn't know you smoked," she commented for lack of anything else to say.

"I started when I was fourteen," he replied. "Then I realised what a fit of melodramatic teenage stupidity it was and gave up shortly afterwards. I started again in the last years of the war; I was under a great deal of stress, after all," he added dryly. "You have come to ask more questions, I assume?"

"I'm afraid so. I still haven't told anyone else about this, though. Is this a good time?"

"I have nothing but free time these days," he drawled. "You'll have to wait until I finish this. I don't smoke inside, and my neighbours are all Muggle holidaymakers who should not overhear this sort of conversation." She nodded and leaned against the side of the caravan, watching him out of the corner of her eye; he looked better than he had at their last meeting, far more alert. Exhaling a thin plume of smoke, his eyes flicked to hers and hardened slightly; she looked away, reflecting that he seemed to be in a less cooperative mood.

A couple of minutes later he stubbed the cigarette out on the side of the caravan beside him and dropped the butt into what looked like a wine bottle by the steps, half filled with water. Turning, he walked inside without looking at her; suppressing a sigh, she followed and closed the door behind him, wondering if he had forgotten basic good manners in the past decade or whether he had never had them.

"What else do you wish to know?" he asked. The ever-present radio was playing as she walked in; he adjusted the volume slightly before settling onto the sofa as he had before. Taking the other chair again, Hermione glanced at the radio.

"Do we have to have that playing?"

"Yes," he replied curtly, grudgingly turning the volume down another notch before looking back at her impatiently. Apparently he wasn't going to explain himself so readily this time. "What other questions do you have, Miss Granger? I may have unlimited free time but I certainly do not wish to spend it talking to you."

"Who did you want to talk to, then?" she challenged him. "Who did you think would find you?"

His lip curled. "I suppose it was remiss of me not to have expected the insufferable know-it-all to continue to plague me," he responded sourly. She rolled her eyes at him in response, refusing to be intimidated, and he asked coolly, "Why this sudden interest in my life?"

"It's not sudden," she corrected quietly, sensing that this was an important question. "We've been looking for you for a long time. When no trace could be found, the search was dropped, until I saw you in London and realised that you were alive, and might be easier to find. Although I don't know why... Why now, after all these years?"

He shrugged one shoulder, not looking at her. "I have my reasons."

"Why didn't you come to us before?" she asked softly.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Even I admit your intelligence, Miss Granger, albeit reluctantly. Use it. What do you suppose would have been the reaction had I returned? Even with my true motives known at last? If I wasn't summarily executed on sight, I would have found myself in Azkaban in short order. Having been held there after the previous war, I have absolutely no desire to repeat the experience."

"All right," she conceded. "But later?"

"The reactions would have been the same. And doubtless will be, once you decide you have all your answers and alert the rest of the world."

"You can't possibly know that."

"Oh?" he asked, his eyes glittering harshly. "And yet my house was burned to the ground." She couldn't suppress a flinch, and he sneered. "Yes, I know. I tried to return for supplies and found it in ruins."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" he asked. "You weren't the one who did it. The place was an eyesore anyway." His heart didn't seem to be in the sarcasm; it must have hurt him. "In any case, there was no reason to destroy the house save the identity of its owner. I took that as a warning of the world's general opinion of me, and went into hiding."

"I can understand that," she said reluctantly. "But if you believe your reception will be so hostile, why come out of hiding at all? However much you're tired of your own company, surely you wouldn't think it worth the risk."

"And, of course, you are such an expert on the way I think," he drawled, anger glittering in his eyes. "You, who were one of those working hardest against me; you, who were one of those who made my life just that little bit more difficult than it already was; you, who were one of those so ready to believe the worst of me."

_Well, this is the Snape I expected. _"You're right," she admitted quietly. "But you made things difficult for yourself as well, sir. You made it very easy for us to believe the worst of you."

For a moment the fury in his eyes threatened violence as he shot her a look of almost pure hatred; then abruptly the tension left him and he actually laughed roughly, a grating, harsh sound filled with bitter irony. "Yes, I suppose I did, didn't I? Hoist by my own petard, I believe the saying is."

Reassured that he wasn't as angry with her as he seemed, she gathered her wits once more; his mercurial changes of mood were disconcerting to say the least, and she needed to stay focused. "You didn't answer my question, sir."

"No, I didn't," he agreed. "I do recall asking you to stop calling me 'sir' on your last visit. I have not been your teacher for a very long time now."

"Should I call you Tobias, then?" she asked, needling him.

He grimaced. "Definitely not," he replied, making no further comment on the extremely obvious choice of alias.

Hermione hesitated. "Severus, then?" she suggested warily, unsure about the intimacy it implied but knowing she couldn't call him Mr. Snape without feeling a bit stupid.

Something flickered through his black eyes for a moment, although she couldn't tell what it was. He shrugged dismissively, looking away from her as though it was utterly unimportant. "That is still my name."

Nodding slightly, she considered what to ask next. Clearly he wasn't going to tell her why he had chosen to come out of hiding. "Do you know what happened at the end of the war?" she asked.

"Partly. I regained consciousness perhaps a minute before the Dark Lord's death, so I was certainly aware of that. It would have been difficult to miss," he added reflectively, absently rubbing his left arm again – she wondered if he even knew he did that.

"You felt it?"

He nodded grimly. "Yes, I felt it." After a moment he changed the subject, returning to her earlier question. "I stole a copy of the Daily Prophet shortly after everything happened, perhaps a week or two later. I know who died and who was imprisoned, little more than that. Since returning to Britain I subscribed once more, so I am better informed of current events."

"Is there anything you want to know about what happened after... your involvement ended?" she asked uncertainly.

"What relevance does it have now?" he replied quietly, apparently engrossed in studying his sleeve. After a long moment he lifted his eyes to hers, and she saw that he did want to know but would never ask. Taking a deep breath, she began retelling the story yet again, beginning from their departure from the Shack.

Throughout the story Snape did not react in any way. He barely seemed to be listening at all, but she was certain he was focused on every word. When she fell silent, he gazed thoughtfully at the wall for a time, and after a while his lips curved into a thin smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I wish I could have seen Bella's face when she realised it was a blood traitor who had killed her," he said quietly.

Despite herself, Hermione laughed softly. "I have to admit, it was quite a sight," she agreed. He nodded slightly, still staring at the wall.

"And I wish I could have seen _his _face when he learned that I betrayed him," he added with sudden savagery in his voice, his eyes burning; there was no need to ask who he meant. "If I regret anything about what happened it is that I couldn't defy him to his face and tell him what I really thought of him." The frustration and hatred were clear in his voice, which had dropped almost to a growl. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like to serve someone you hated and feared so intensely.

"Harry made sure he knew," she said softly, remembering her friend's voice snarling, "_Severus Snape wasn't yours._"

He didn't answer, that terrible fierce anger slowly fading – or being pushed away – and leaving his face as expressionless as before. "Thank you for telling me," he said finally, a little stiffly.

"You deserved to know," she replied very quietly. "It would never have happened if not for you."

His eyes widened slightly, something nameless stirring in their dark depths, before he sneered, "How very touching. Kindly stop getting sentimental on me, Miss Granger; I had almost managed to forget that you were a Gryffindor."

Suspecting that he needed time to process what she had told him, she stood. "I should be going, anyway. May I visit again?"

"Still more questions?" he asked darkly.

"One or two, yes." She paused. "Harry would like to speak with you at some stage, I should think," she said carefully. A nerve jumped under his eye as he tensed almost imperceptibly, and she understood without his having to say anything that this wasn't an option yet. "Not for a while, though," she continued. "He needs time to adjust as well. I'll be back next week, if that's all right?"

"Do as you please," he replied bitingly. "You will anyway." She chose not to reply to that, because if he was truly opposed to talking to her it would have been very easy to stop her.

"Goodbye for now, then... Severus."

* * *

"Well, how did it go this time?"

"Oh, he was much more like his old self," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly at the memory. "Much less talkative and far more sarcastic. It was almost like being in class again."

"So he's not ill any more, then?"

"No, if that was what the problem was. I might ask him next time. I was going to today, but I didn't quite dare."

"Next time?" Harry repeated.

"Yes. I spent most of today telling him what happened after we left the Shack. He knew it when Voldemort fell, and he found out who died, but that was all he knew about the end of the war, so I helped fill in the gaps." She repeated the details of the conversation.

"And you're going back?" Ginny asked curiously.

"Yes. I've found out what he's been doing all this time, and why he didn't come back – well, partly, although he's definitely not as willing to share. I still want to find out what happened to him. How badly he suffered because of us."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Harry nodded slowly. "Fair enough, I suppose. After that, though, I think we have to start telling the others."

"I know. I'm going to try and find out what he wants, why he's back now. Not that I think he'll tell me, but I might be able to work something out."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Ginny said, smiling. Hermione smiled back.

"Actually, yes. Arguing with him is a lot more fun when he can't give detention." It made them all laugh, and Harry reached out to touch her arm.

"I'm glad you found him. You're right, we owe him everything. Maybe now we can start paying that debt."

"If he'll let us."

* * *

He was outside again tinkering with one wheel of the battered jeep when she showed up the following week. Glancing up at her approach, he jerked his head towards the caravan; taking the hint, she went inside, taking the opportunity to turn the radio off and watching him out of the window as he worked, crouching with all his weight on his left leg and the almost immobile right leg extended awkwardly to one side.

After a few minutes he stood up slowly, working kinks out of his back and shoulders before limping in to join her. Giving her an irritated look, he switched the radio on once more, and she sighed. "Can't you leave it off?"

"No," he replied shortly. After a moment he added stiffly, "It is... necessary."

"Necessary?" she asked, puzzled. "You can't even hear it properly."

He nodded and after a long moment reluctantly explained. "I dislike silence these days. The background noise helps, ah... distract me. It... stops me dwelling on things I have no wish to think about." Hermione processed this. He added awkwardly, "If it is the music you object to, I can change the station."

"No. It's okay. I'm just not used to background noise, that's all."

He nodded again and looked away, moving to the sink to wash his hands. After a moment he asked with a flash of his usual sarcasm, "So what is the subject of today's batch of questions?"

Taking a deep breath, she asked the question that might very well ruin everything. "What was wrong with you when I first visited?"

He frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do," she pressed. "And I think you were hoping I hadn't noticed."

"I don't want to talk about it," Snape replied shortly. His repressive tone underlined his words; this was a dangerous subject.

For years she – along with every other Hogwarts student – had been conditioned to obey that tone absolutely and immediately stop talking; it took all her courage to reply boldly, "Well, it's going to come up sooner or later, unless that was an isolated incident, so you're going to have to tell someone."

"And that should be you?" he sneered.

"I'm the one who asked the question," she pointed out.

During the long silence that followed, the only noise came from the radio in the corner. After what seemed an eternity, he silently poured them both a drink and walked past her into the living room again; following, she settled in the armchair and waited.

"It was not an isolated incident," he admitted finally, staring past her at the wall with a distant expression. "At the risk of sounding clichéd, you caught me on a bad day. Although I suppose it would be more accurate to say that you caught me in the aftermath of several bad days." He didn't seem to be paying attention to what he was saying; she got the impression that he was thinking very hard about something. "Do I assume that today's questions are all about my health?" he asked distantly.

"Yes," she admitted.

He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why must I always be backed into a corner?" he muttered. The remark clearly hadn't been directed at her, so Hermione remained silent, waiting for him to work through whatever was bothering him. Without opening his eyes, he spoke to her, his voice clipped and harsh. "I am going to be honest with you, because I do not see another choice. Before I start, I want your word that you will not repeat what I am about to say."

"My word?" she repeated uncertainly.

"Yes. I do not require a sworn oath, merely your promise that you will not tell anyone else. Whatever my opinion of you, you are at least honest," he added in a weak attempt at his usual disdain.

"I can't promise without knowing what you're going to say," she protested.

"I assure you it concerns my health and my reasons for coming out of hiding, nothing more. Your word, Miss Granger, or this conversation is over."

Disregarding his earlier comment about not having any choice, even though if that was true then he was in no position to be setting terms and conditions, she thought about it for a few minutes. Rather than annoyance at the delay, the gleam in his eyes seemed more approving of her caution than anything else. Whatever he had to say, it was clearly very important to him, and he clearly did not want to talk about it to anyone. _Why me? Is it just because I'm here? _That could be sorted out later. "You have it," she told him finally.

Snape nodded once. "Fine. No interruptions until I am finished, if you please." Taking a deep breath, he seemed to be considering what to say; obviously he hadn't planned on having this conversation yet, if ever. "When you first saw me," he began slowly, "I had just finished a course of very strong medication to treat an episode of an underlying condition. The medication is of my own devising and has a number of unfortunate side effects; as you saw, it affects my mood and my speech. In a way, those side effects are the reason I am no longer hiding; the medication is no longer truly effective. To be blunt, I need the resources to develop a better treatment."

He glanced at her briefly before returning his stare to the wall. "You are no doubt wondering what this illness is. I cannot tell you, because I do not know. It has affected my nervous system and possibly certain areas of my brain. Most of the time, I am as well as I ever will be. Occasionally I have what I term episodes; a mild episode might be nothing more than faint muscle spasms in my left arm and hand and some stiffness in the fingers. A severe episode, such as the one I was recovering from when you visited, can be a blackout, temporary localised paralysis, severe muscle spasms that may develop into seizures, a complete loss of concentration and speech, vicious migraines, or any combination of those symptoms."

There was another pause, but he didn't seem to have finished speaking. After a time he continued, "The episodes are no more frequent now than they have been since the war, but the potions I use for treatment are no longer working as they should. I have developed a resistance. I am trying to create an alternative, but I need access to a proper laboratory and a wide range of ingredients rather than being limited to what I can grow myself. That is why I came out of hiding, Miss Granger; because I have no choice."

She wasn't sure what was worse; what he had just told her, the utterly emotionless tone of voice he had used, or the bleak look in his eyes now as he stared at the wall. Shivering, she tried to think of something intelligent to say. "The... tremors," she said carefully. "They sound similar to the after effects of the Cruciatus curse. Could this... illness have been caused by that? You were probably exposed to it more than anyone."

"Probably," he agreed, nodding. "I imagine that is the root cause, along with cumulative damage from other curses and injuries. And the Longbottoms are proof that the Cruciatus affects the brain."

"Frank and Alice died seven years ago," she told him softly, "within a few weeks of one another."

"Good," he replied bluntly after a moment. "Nobody should have to live like that."

That sounded callous and unfeeling, but privately Hermione thought she agreed with him, at least a little. It occurred to her that it was possible that he had been there when Bellatrix and Barty Crouch tortured the two Aurors into insanity, and she shivered, pulling her mind away from the topic. Before she could think of another question he transferred his gaze from the wall to her, his eyes suddenly intent.

"You know of the after effects of the Cruciatus. Such effects are rare, Miss Granger..." His eyes narrowed as he searched her face. "Not Potter, if anyone could manage to come through an Unforgiveable unscathed it would be him..." He drew in a sharp breath. "When were you tortured?"

Well, that was annoying. This was going to be awkward if she couldn't keep anything secret from him. She didn't think he had used Legilimency, either; he was simply very good at reading people. "In the final year," she said quietly. "When we were being held in Malfoy's manor. It was only the once, but apparently that was enough."

"It affects people differently," he muttered distractedly, his eyes still curiously intent. "Who was it?"

_Does it matter? _"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Anger sparked in his black eyes and he looked away. "I regret many things in my past," he said finally. "One of my greater regrets is that I didn't kill her when I had the chance." He breathed out slowly, the anger fading into his usual emotionless mask. "It seems Bella's victims are more likely to develop after effects, if they survive."

"She cursed you?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Frequently," he replied flatly. "She was the Dark Lord's enforcer, when he did not wish to take a personal role." The dangerous tone of voice was back. This time Hermione listened; this was not a subject she wanted to pursue further. "How severe are your attacks?" he asked.

"After what you describe, not very. Muscle spasms, sometimes a mild headache. They never last long, and they don't happen very often. They are..."

"Uncomfortable," he suggested dryly. She nodded ruefully, appreciating the ironic understatement in the choice of word. He shifted uneasily before standing and crossing into the kitchen to search through a cupboard, bringing out a small glass vial filled with a milky blue potion and holding it out to her. "This will help. If the attacks are mild, it will probably stop them completely." For a moment his eyes flicked over her, assessing; she knew a moment of confusion as she wondered what he was doing, before he spoke again. "For someone of your height and weight, I would say three drops a day, until the vial is empty. If the attacks continue, I can provide more. It does me little good these days."

"Thank you," she answered quietly, carefully taking the vial out of his hand. His fingers were cool. Cautiously opening the vial, she sniffed the contents before raising the dropper to her lips; it tasted strange and was oddly reminiscent of TCP.

Correctly interpreting her expression, he observed sardonically, "The taste is another regrettable property I have not had a chance to alter."

"Even so, thank you," she repeated, carefully sealing the vial and putting it into her pocket. "Your attacks..." she began hesitantly. "Are they... progressive?"

"You mean, will they eventually kill me without better treatment?" he asked bluntly. "I do not know. Probably. Hence my presence where I can be found."

_He should have asked for help. _But she knew why he hadn't; the look in his eyes said it all. He didn't believe anyone would have helped him if he had, and even now he was still so proud, refusing to admit weakness. If the prospect of dying bothered him, he wasn't showing it. "What do you need?" she asked equally bluntly.

A noticeable shiver ran through him, a strange expression crossing his face for a moment; a look of almost wonder, as if he hadn't expected her to help, touched with something almost like regret. "A laboratory. Access to whatever ingredients I need. Protection while I work."

"Protection?"

"Most people, on hearing that I am alive, would not react with mildly irritating curiosity, Miss Granger," he replied dryly. "They would be far more inclined to casual hostility; to hex first and ask questions later. Combating assassination attempts very quickly loses its charm, I assure you."

"Where..."

"I don't know. That is why I stopped hiding. I was gambling on it being the Order who found me, rather than the Ministry – who, I suspect, are still collectively incapable of finding their backsides with both hands and a map."

"There are quite a few Order members in the Ministry now," she replied mildly, trying not to giggle at his comment.

"And look at the difference it has made," he countered with a sarcastic smile.

Conceding the point, she shrugged. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know. I assumed that if a member of the Order found me, they would have sufficient clout to find a solution, if I wasn't simply killed on sight – which would have simplified matters, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, with as much sarcasm as she dared; a faint gleam in his eyes might have been amusement. She considered his requirements and a wonderful, terrible idea began to develop in the back of her mind. It would be almost impossible, but if she could manage it...

"You have thought of something," he stated, watching her narrowly.

"I think perhaps I may have," she replied slowly. "It may not be possible. In fact, it probably won't be. There will be... objections. I'll see what I can do."

"You realise, I trust, that anyone else in your position would simply walk away."

"Not anyone else, sir – Severus," she corrected herself awkwardly at his rebuking look. "Not in the Order, at least. We owe you too much. I'll try and find a way. Is it – I mean, how much time do I have?"

"I'm not in immediate danger of collapse," he said dryly. "I imagine I have perhaps a year left before the potion ceases to be of any use at all, and the attacks may not necessarily kill me after that point."

"It won't take me that long. I will have to inform certain people of your survival, though, and that will take time."

"It will cause a great many arguments," he agreed sardonically. "And accusations of falsehood or madness, followed by demands for proof, and endless debates about what to do with this new knowledge, and in general a collective imitation of a headless chicken."

Again she sternly fought down the urge to giggle. "Something like that, no doubt," she replied diplomatically, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. "Anyway, I suppose I should go. There will be a lot to sort out." Standing up, she looked at him. "Thank you for the potion. And thank you for confiding in me."

"I had no choice," he pointed out, swinging his stiff leg off the sofa and standing in turn. "Nonetheless, I suppose there were worse possibilities than you," he added almost grudgingly.

"Thank you," she replied sarcastically, giving him a faint smile that he ignored completely. "I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sure you'll survive."

"With a heroic effort, I think perhaps I might manage a few days," he agreed, his voice back to its usual mocking drawl. "In any case, I do have a mobile phone."

"Really?"

"Really," he repeated in cool amusement. Fishing a scrap of paper out of his pocket, he found a pencil and scrawled a number on it before handing it to her. "Goodbye. And... thank you," he added awkwardly, evidently not used to saying that.

"Goodbye."

* * *

Rather than going straight to Harry and Ginny's to report, Hermione went back to her own flat and collapsed on her bed, emotionally exhausted. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she thought about what she had learned; it was too horrible to think about, never mind live with. Everything he had suffered, everything he had endured, for them, for all of them, and it had left him terribly damaged, perhaps dying. After some thought, she decided that the bleakness in his face had been the worst; those deadened, resigned eyes were going to haunt her dreams for many nights to come. He seemed to accept that he would continue to suffer and that nobody would be willing to help him, as though that were his lot in life.

_Well, isn't it? It has been so far! God... _She felt sick, and after a moment turned her face into the pillow. It wouldn't be the first time she had cried over Severus Snape, and she had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last.

_

* * *

Next chapter in a few days.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hermione has a plan.  


* * *

_

**"****And that haunted past will follow you like a lost dog on the beach  
****Nipping at your trail until you've drifted out of reach."**  
– Josh Woodward, 'Fight The Sea.'

* * *

When she walked in, Harry and Ginny looked at her in surprise; she didn't have time to waste on lengthy explanations and her attitude was all business as she came to stand in front of them. "Well, I know what's going on now," she told them quietly. "We've got a lot to do."

"Why, what did he say?"

"He told me why he came back. I can't tell you his reasons; I promised I wouldn't say anything. To _anyone,_" she added repressively when Harry looked ready to argue. "All I can tell you is that he needs access to a decent lab again to do some research, and he wants my help – our help – to make sure he can work without people trying to arrest him or kill him."

"Easier said than done," Harry muttered, looking a little shell-shocked by the swiftness of this development. "Are you sure about this, Hermione?"

"Yes. We owe him this, Harry. It's important, I promise."

"All right, I know that look; you've already got a plan. Let's hear it."

She told them. They both stared at her as if she was completely insane; but she was used to that, and waited patiently. Finally Ginny said faintly, "Hermione, that's impossible, you know that. Nobody's going to agree."

"There will be arguments," Hermione agreed calmly. "But he's qualified, we know that. And there's nobody else. The position has been advertised for years. Nobody else wants it."

"Does he?" Harry asked pointedly; this was one of the major potential flaws in her plan, admittedly.

"I haven't asked him," she admitted breezily. "If we present it as a fait accompli, I think I can persuade him to agree," she added optimistically, "but let's get everyone else on board first. If they don't like it, they're welcome to try and find someone else."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just set him up in one of our homes and get him whatever he needs?"

"Yes, but the truth will come out eventually; it might as well be now. And it's not fair to him to have to hide away still. He has the right to live a normal life again. Besides, do you really think he wants to spend any time with any of us, after everything that happened and everything we know about him now?"

"You're crazy," Harry said with feeling, "but all right. Where do we start?"

"Minerva."

"No." That was Ginny. "First, we tell Ron."

"Ron? Why?"

"So that if this insane plan comes to anything, we won't have to deal with his hurt feelings when he counts up how many people knew before he did."

"All right, Ron, then Minerva; then Kingsley and the rest of the Order; then the board members. Then I'll talk to Severus..."

"Severus?" Ginny echoed.

Hermione shrugged. "I can hardly call him Professor any more, can I? And Mr. Snape sounds stupid, and it's a bit rude to just call him Snape."

"I suppose."

"Anyway, that's more than enough to get on with, if this is going to work. Let's just hope that nobody can say no to the Chosen One."

* * *

It took almost a fortnight of nonstop arguments. During the days of fighting, Hermione found herself remembering Snape's dryly accurate assessment of what would happen once the news of his survival spread; she was dreading what would happen when the Prophet ran the story. Kingsley was the highest placed Order member in the Ministry and had embargoed it for as long as he could, but after that he would be fair game. Despite that, she was feeling cautiously optimistic; everyone had utterly hated the idea, but really, there was nobody else, which was the only reason she had got away with it.

Now all she had to do was convince Snape. Telling herself firmly that it wasn't really cowardice, she picked up the phone and dialled the number he had given her. Really, she should have expected the voicemail; he was anti-social enough to screen his calls. The message was simple; his drawling voice stated his phone number – but not his name – and instructed callers to leave a message after the tone, adding, "_If I don't contact you, assume that I didn't want to talk to you in the first place._" The attitude was so typically Snape that it made her laugh, and she barely managed to leave her message.

"It's Hermione. We have a working plan. Nobody's happy, but it went better than I thought. I'll be there soon to tell you what happened."

* * *

For all his apparent unconcern at their last meeting, Snape was clearly feeling anxious; he answered the door almost as soon as she touched it, his whole demeanour tense and edgy. "Well?" he asked. "What foolishness have you got me involved with now?"

"Hello to you, too," she told him tartly, walking past him and into the living room, sitting down. Looking up, she frowned at him. "You should sit. This is going to be a long conversation."

"Wonderful," he drawled, making no move to sit down. She watched him critically and wondered if his leg was bothering him, but even if it was, he would never admit it.

"At this moment, several high-level officials in both the Order and the Ministry know that you are alive. Nobody knows where, save me. I suppose that makes me some sort of unofficial liaison. The Prophet knows, but the story has been embargoed for a while to give us time to finalise the arrangements; there's a lot to sort out. After that, it's going to break, and the general public will learn."

"I had hoped for something less public," he muttered, his very lack of expression somehow managing to convey unhappiness.

"I know, but there was no way to keep something like this a secret, not now that so many people already know. Besides, this way, maybe we can control the reactions to some extent."

"I doubt it."

"Do you want to hear what's going to happen, or not?" she demanded. He eyed her for a long moment before nodding grudgingly and leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at her. Hermione took a deep breath; he wasn't going to be happy. "There is a certain job vacancy that is yours if you want it. Nobody's happy about it, I'm afraid, but you're qualified and nobody else wants it."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What job?" he asked slowly. She avoided his eyes; the last thing she wanted was for him to read it from her mind.

"One you've done before, for many years."

The tension level in the room skyrocketed. His eyes went from suspicious to blazing fury, and she actually shrank back a little in her chair as he stormed across to loom over her and stood glaring down at her, his hands knotted into fists as the sheer force of his personality and his magic filled the small space. "What the _hell _have you done?" he spat. "_Hogwarts? _You propose that I return to Hogwarts? _Have you completely lost your mind?_"

"No," she started, and had to stop to take a deep breath and stop her voice shaking. "No, I haven't," she continued more strongly. "It's logical. You'd have your lab, and all the potions ingredients you could possibly want. And it's safe. In addition, it gives you a place in the wizarding world again. What's the problem?"

"What's the – Was I wrong about you? Are you in fact as stupid as you look? My former colleagues are even now polishing their wands and preparing curses especially for me. Have you somehow forgotten the myriad and justified reasons why everyone within Hogwarts utterly _despises_ me?"

Snape was a very tightly controlled man, and he was usually at his most dangerous when his voice was very quiet. But right now he was shouting, the raised volume unfortunately emphasising the damage to his throat; he was forced to break off, coughing raggedly, the fury in his eyes undiminished as he glared at her.

"No, I haven't forgotten," she replied in a small voice, scared by the violence of his reaction. "Nor has anyone else. But they know the real story now; they know why you did what you did. You had no choice. Even Minerva admits that. If you go back..." She trailed off, his expression indicating quite clearly that if he could stop coughing long enough to articulate a spell he would hex her unless she stopped talking _right now. _She suspected she should be grateful he probably couldn't concentrate enough for a non-verbal spell while he was choking.

Once he regained his breath, he stalked into the kitchen without saying anything, filling a glass with water from the tap and sipping it slowly, staring out of the window at the caravan site beyond. She stood up, not wanting to be cornered in the chair if he truly lost his temper, but stayed where she was, letting him think it through.

Finally he moved once more, pacing slowly over to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame and glaring at her. The anger in his eyes hadn't faded, but his expression was colder now, more controlled. "Explain," he ordered curtly.

"Horace Slughorn is still the current Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin. He's a very old man now and he is desperate to retire. Minerva has been looking for a replacement for several years. No qualified Slytherin is interested, and no non-Slytherin would be willing to take over as Head of House even if we thought that was a good idea."

"'We'?" he snapped. His expression changed. "Miss Granger, please tell me that you are not on the faculty."

"Only part time; I teach Muggle Studies," she admitted quietly.

He muttered something under his breath; judging by the look on his face, she was positive that she didn't want to hear what he'd said. Running his fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment before glaring at her once more. "Continue."

"There isn't much more to say. The job's open. You've done it before. You're more than qualified. Even those most opposed to this had to admit that you're a good teacher. There is nobody else. And it would get you everything you need – everything you asked me for," she added pointedly.

His jaw tightened; evidently the subtle reminder was not appreciated. Looking away, he scowled at nothing as he thought it over. "Everyone agreed?"

"Minerva agreed on behalf of all the staff. Kingsley agreed on behalf of the rest of the Order, and helped convince the Ministry. The board of governors agreed... eventually."

"This is a bad idea," he muttered.

"I disagree."

"You're not the one who will have to face them all." His tone of voice made her pause; he didn't sound angry any more. Frowning, she studied his face, expressionless as always, and the realisation hit her; _he's scared. _She didn't think she had ever seen Severus Snape afraid of anything before.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked softly. He glared at her again, but the expression had no real venom behind it, at least when compared to the way he had looked at her earlier.

"I killed perhaps the greatest Headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen," he said quietly. "The following year, I took his place on the orders of the most evil wizard the world has ever known, and in his service I knowingly tortured and terrified the students I was supposed to protect. And now you want me to return, with so much blood on my hands..."

Hermione felt her throat close for a moment, her heart aching for him as she once again confronted just what he had been forced to do for the sake of all of them. "I know, Severus. I'm sorry. But this was the best I could do to help you. And... You're needed. Horace is a very old man. He's starting to fail. The students need..."

"Horace Slughorn is an arrogant, narrow-minded buffoon," he muttered, although his heart obviously wasn't in it. "As Head of House he was about as effective as a straw effigy would have been."

"All the more reason for you to take over, then?" she suggested hopefully.

"A pitiful attempt, Miss Granger," he replied with a shadow of his usual sneer. "Surely you of all people must realise how effective emotional blackmail is."

"Yes, I believe I do," she answered slowly and deliberately, meeting his eyes. It was Snape who looked away first, subtly backing down, his whole stance becoming less aggressive.

"I need time to think," he said finally, avoiding her eyes. She nodded.

"Contact me when you've decided."

* * *

When Hermione came home from a late-night grocery run a couple of days later, she found an extremely short message on her answering machine, two words in a very familiar voice. "You win."

She went to the site immediately, despite the hour, and wasn't particularly surprised to find him still awake. He didn't seem surprised to see her, either. This was important and needed to be sorted as quickly as possible. Settling into the armchair again and gratefully accepting a cup of coffee, she looked at him. "What happens now?"

He shifted on the sofa, adjusting the angle of his bad leg, and sipped his own coffee before answering. "I need to meet with McGonagall in the next few days. _Not_ here; I would prefer nobody learn of this address. And not Hogwarts; I will not set foot on the grounds until everything is arranged. Somewhere neutral." He hesitated, staring into the mug he was cradling in long fingers as though seeking answers, before adding awkwardly, "If you could be present for the meeting, it might perhaps be advisable."

It took her a moment to translate that and realise that he was asking her to be there to try and keep things civil, that he was afraid of how Minerva would react. It probably wasn't a bad idea. During that final year, she had been one of his most vehement opponents, and they had never really been more than reluctant allies as far as she had been able to tell. "I think I can arrange that," Hermione replied diplomatically. "What will the meeting be about?"

"My contract," he answered quietly. "I want something in writing assuring me that nobody's going to try and kill me on sight; I want the terms of my employment made extremely clear. And if possible I want some flexibility in my role as Head of House. If I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right this time."

"I don't understand."

"Imagine my surprise," he drawled, shaking his head. "I don't expect you to. You've never been Head of House, although no doubt you will be at some point." _Was that a compliment? _He continued, "More specifically, you have never been Head of the House that everyone else hates. Slytherin needs more than the other three. Especially if they've really had Slughorn since Dumbledore... died."

"There's nothing wrong with Horace..."

"His attitude towards his house is the same as his attitude towards all his students. If you are from a famous, powerful and influential family, or if you have the potential to become famous, powerful and influential, he will at least attempt to help. Everyone else is beneath his notice."

"You sound... bitter," she said carefully, suspecting that he might be right.

"He was my Head of House too."

"I would have thought you would be one of his favourites, with your skill at Potions," she said, surprised. He shook his head.

"No. I argued with him, I deviated from his instructions in every lesson and usually produced better results than he did. He called me reckless and dangerous. In addition, my constant conflicts with Gryffindor caused him a great deal of inconvenience, and he blamed me for that. I was part of his stupid club, just on the off-chance that I might achieve something, but he never particularly liked me." He sounded even more bitter. Hermione would have liked to ask for more details, but his gaze sharpened as soon as she opened her mouth, and she changed her mind about what she was going to say.

"Is unfairly favouring your own house much better?"

"Now who's bitter?" he asked mockingly. "Every Head of House favours their own. As for unfairly, well, who else would favour Slytherin, especially under a Gryffindor Headmaster or Headmistress?"

"That's not fair," she protested indignantly.

"You speak of what you do not understand," he snapped. "You have no idea how difficult things were for my House under Dumbledore, particularly once you and your little friends started." He took a breath and spoke again before she could respond to the accusation. "An example; in your first year, when your actions regarding the Philosopher's Stone earned you the House Cup, do you remember how he awarded you those points at the end of year feast?"

"What about it?"

"The Great Hall had been decorated for Slytherin. As far as everyone was concerned, Slytherin had won the cup. Dumbledore told nobody of his plans, certainly not me. He announced the House standings, and I was preparing to celebrate with my House. Then at the last possible moment, he took that away from them and gave it to Gryffindor. He gave me no warning. He publicly humiliated my House without a word of apology or explanation. Had he told me in advance, I could have tried to soften that blow; as it was..." He shook his head and sighed. "No doubt you spent that night celebrating. I spent it trying to explain to Slytherin that the Headmaster didn't hate them, without telling them the truth – which was that he simply didn't care."

The silence that followed, broken only by the ever-present radio, was hot and angry and tense. Truthfully, Hermione had never stopped to consider how the Slytherins must have felt about that. "It wasn't that he didn't care..." she started weakly, and he snorted angrily.

"Yes, it was. It never occurred to him that his actions would hurt my house. Slytherin's feelings weren't important enough to register with him. When I had finished trying – and failing – to comfort some very upset and angry students, I confronted him about it. And he _laughed. _He twinkled at me, and he told me to stop being so sensitive, that Slytherin had won the cup for the past few years and it was about time someone else had a turn."

His black eyes glittered with anger and he put his coffee mug down. She could think of nothing to say. After a long moment he shook his head and sighed, the anger draining away and leaving him looking weary and resigned once more. "At this moment in time, Slytherin House is the smallest of the four, with the highest incidence of students who leave before the full seven years are complete. They have the highest statistics of failing exams, of illness and of visits to the Hospital Wing. They also have the highest number of detentions and have finished in fourth place every year since Hogwarts reopened."

She stared at him. "How do you know all that?" she asked, and saw from the bitter triumph on his face that he hadn't known at all, that he had guessed. The confirmation didn't seem to make him happy.

"I was right, then. It didn't take a genius to work it out, Miss Granger. There is no other way things could possibly turn out. If there is a single person on the staff or in any of the other three houses who has not found themselves automatically thinking of Slytherin as Death Eaters at least once since the war ended, I will cut off my hand and eat it."

She opened her mouth to protest that she hadn't, but the words died unsaid and she looked away guiltily, knowing better than to try and lie to him. It was true. He nodded, entirely unsurprised. "And that, Miss Granger, is why no other Slytherin will ever willingly return to teach at Hogwarts. That is why you could find nobody to replace Slughorn. From the moment a student enters that school, they are given the impression that Slytherin is less than the other Houses."

"I don't think that's true..." she said weakly, still unable to meet his eyes. She was starting to wonder how long this had been festering with him; years, obviously, if not decades. Perhaps even since his own schooldays.

"Don't you? I don't know how things work now, but think back to when you were at school. First years were met by the Head of Gryffindor, not by a neutral staff member, and told about the four Houses. Slytherin was always mentioned last and never in a neutral tone. The Sorting Hat sang its stupid little song; again, Slytherin was usually mentioned last and usually in an unflattering manner. Everyone applauded most students when they were sorted; Slytherin were the only ones who applauded new Slytherins. The Slytherin quarters were below ground, practically in the dungeons; I assure you that was not because we liked the dark and the damp. These are small things by themselves, but they still leave a subconscious impression; consider Potter, so determined not to be Sorted into Slytherin even though he'd only heard of us half an hour before – something Dumbledore praised him for, incidentally. Every Slytherin first year learned by the end of their first day that the rest of the school dislikes them; every day they spent at Hogwarts from that point on only underscored that lesson. Our legendary arrogance was an attempt at compensation, nothing more."

There was really nothing she could say in response to that, because it was all true. "I never thought about it like that before."

"Naturally not. You were in golden Gryffindor; all Slytherin ever meant to you was Draco and his minions. I doubt you could name a single Slytherin from your school days who wasn't part of that group. But now you are on the staff, and you are supposed to be neutral; don't you think you should?"

Hermione accepted the rebuke, reluctantly. "Do you intend saying any of this to Minerva?"

"I won't waste my breath. She has less love for Slytherin than anyone. Mostly because of me, I suspect; I was a constant thorn in her side during my schooldays."

"So what will you be asking her?"

"If the Slytherin quarters are still in the dungeons, I want them moved. I asked Dumbledore every year and every year he refused."

"They have been moved. Each House has its own tower at one corner of the castle now, with the Astronomy Tower in the centre."

"Well, that's a start. I would prefer it had been done for reasons of equality rather than aesthetics, but I will take what I can get." He drummed his long fingers on his thigh, his eyes pensive. "I will need access to whatever pitiful records Slughorn bothered to keep in the past years. I will need access to the medical records. Mostly I simply require the freedom to manage my House without interference, and to teach as I see fit. If she mentions probation or trial even once, I'm walking away and even you won't find me."

"Within reasonable limits, I'm sure I can sell that," she replied carefully. "We can discuss the specifics with Minerva when we meet, and I'll make sure I have Horace's paperwork for you."

He nodded and cracked his knuckles. "Speaking of trials... Am I likely to be visited by Ministry officials at some point?" he asked warily.

"No. You won't be charged with anything. I think the Ministry have adopted a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy where you're concerned. Nobody wants to open that can of worms – I mean, nobody wants to explore just what you did for our side, because they don't want to know."

"I understood the Muggle slang," he replied mildly, seeming faintly amused. "And you're right. You don't want to know."

"Anyway, members of the Order testified that everything you did as a Death Eater was in your role as a spy on Dumbledore's instructions, including his death, and that without you Voldemort would have won."

He visibly flinched, reflexively touching his left arm, and she stared at him. He looked away from her, his whole body tense. "I would prefer it if you did not use that name," he muttered.

"After all this time?"

"It isn't because of Death Eater fanaticism that we didn't use the name. Not for most of us, anyway. Bella and the other more deluded members convinced themselves that it was blasphemy; the rest of us were more honest. It hurts."

"What?"

"It hurts," he repeated flatly. "Something to do with the Dark Mark; hearing his name hurts my arm, and I am incapable of saying it, even now."

"I had no idea..." she whispered.

He shrugged. "No reason you would. I didn't tell anyone. But now... I am older, and I am tired of pain, and... I would prefer it if you did not use the Dark Lord's name in front of me. Please."

"Of course," she assured him hastily. He nodded, still not looking at her, and for a moment her throat ached with pity. He had suffered so much. After a moment she said quietly, "I would have thought the Mark would have faded. Healed."

"No. Why would it? It's a curse scar. Potter's scar hasn't faded entirely, has it? Just because the one who inflicted it is dead does not automatically mean that the wound will heal." He slowly rolled his left sleeve up to the elbow and extended his arm, allowing her to see the snake and skull clearly; it wasn't black any longer but an almost purplish grey, and looked like a tattoo that had faded through years of exposure to the sun, or an extremely oddly shaped bruise.

Repeating her thought, Hermione said quietly, "It looks like a tattoo."

"More like a cattle brand," he replied softly, staring down at it, slowly tracing the outline with a finger.

"Did it... Does it hurt?" she asked uncertainly. She didn't think he would answer, and for a few minutes he didn't.

"When I was first branded with it, the pain was worse than anything I have felt before or since. The pain faded within perhaps six months. After that Halloween when he... vanished, or fell, or whatever you want to call it, the Mark itself faded until it was almost invisible and I was able to forget it was there. In your fourth year, it began to tingle and itch, and grew darker. When he returned, it hurt a lot. During the war it hurt severely only when I was summoned or when he wished to punish me from a distance; the minor pains such as that incurred on hearing his name are built in to the Mark itself and have not stopped since he died. His death hurt more than his return, more than anything except first receiving the Mark. Since then, no, it does not hurt."

"Well, that's something, at least," she muttered. He withdrew his arm sharply, and she realised she had unthinkingly reached out to touch the Mark; she gave him an apologetic glance as he rolled his sleeve down over it once more.

"It just feels like skin," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. He attempted some sarcasm. "You won't burst into flames on touching it, you can't feel dark magic seeping out of it, and it doesn't smell of sulphur and brimstone. It just feels like skin." He had never appeared to like casual touch, she remembered.

Looking around for inspiration, she caught sight of the clock and blinked. "God, it's after midnight. You should have said something; I've been here for hours."

Snape shrugged indifferently. "I don't keep regular hours any more. I have always had trouble sleeping; since the last war, I seldom sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. I assumed that if you were tired you would make your excuses and leave. I should have guessed you would rather ask questions than sleep," he added sardonically.

She couldn't help but smile, since it was true. His voice always conveyed sarcasm extremely efficiently, with considerable nuances, and that hadn't changed. He didn't truly object to her questions, or he would have refused to answer them. "Truthfully, I don't sleep that well either sometimes," she admitted quietly, "although your nightmares must be worse than mine."

She'd expected him to deny having nightmares; when he didn't reply, she looked up and found him watching her thoughtfully with the penetrating expression that meant he saw far more than she had ever planned to reveal. Hastily she looked away from him, and after a moment he sighed.

"If I used Legilimency on you, you would know it. I am not skilled enough to do so undetected; my talents are as an Occlumens. And I would not use Legilimency without consent. Avoiding eye contact would not save you in any case." Despite what he had said about his sleeping patterns, he sounded tired.

"Sorry. It's just... you always seem to know what people are thinking. It's... unnerving," she admitted, looking up in time to catch a fleeting half-smile.

"It's not Legilimency. I was a spy, and a good one. I am good at reading faces and body language, at hearing unspoken words. And you are still very much a Gryffindor, with all your feelings on the surface."

"I should probably work on that, if we're going to be working together," she commented ruefully.

He snorted. "We shall hardly be working together. Potions and Muggle Studies are entirely separate disciplines. And I do not intend interacting with my fellow staff members unless forced to do so."

_Why am I not surprised? _"You know what I meant."

"Yes, but do you?"

"It is definitely too late for riddles. I should go." Now that she had noticed the time, she was feeling tired. He stood as she did. "I'll arrange a meeting with Minerva as soon as I can."

He nodded. "If you wish, I can make some Dreamless Sleep for you," he offered awkwardly; she suspected the offer was instead of thanking her.

"You don't have some already?"

"It's addictive if taken too often. I can't use it any more."

That one brief sentence told her more than she wanted to know. Firmly squashing down any trace of pity, she nodded. "I see. Thank you for the offer, but I'll be all right. I'll leave a message with the meeting details. Good night, Severus, and thank you for talking to me."

"Good night," he answered softly. She could feel him watching her as she let herself out.

_

* * *

Next chapter on Sunday, to celebrate Snape's birthday.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Happy 51st birthday, Severus (thanks Kat for pointing out that I can't count). If we had our way you'd be alive and happy. Also, were people having problems with Chapter 4? Apparently it wasn't showing up.  


* * *

_

**"****It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts. After death they take on a firmer outline and then cease to change****."**  
– Colette.

* * *

A few days later found her back at the caravan. Not atypically for a British summer, it was raining hard, making the site look even more depressing than it had already and making her hair frizz alarmingly. The door was open; she ducked inside with some relief, shivering. "Severus?"

"Here." She followed his voice down the narrow kitchen into a small space at the end of the corridor with three doors opening from it. The first proved to be a bathroom of sorts, just barely large enough for a shower stall, a sink and a toilet. The door immediately opposite her opened onto a bedroom; the double bed filled most of the tiny space literally from wall to wall, with just enough space for a chest of drawers and a narrow wardrobe at one end, and a small shelf above the bed held a book, a lamp and a bottle of water. The final room had presumably been another bedroom at one point; now bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each one with a rail set in place so that the books would not fall when the caravan was moving, and there were boxes of books on the floor. Snape glanced up with a faintly mocking expression as she looked around. "Try to restrain yourself, Miss Granger," he drawled.

Ignoring his sarcasm, she studied the titles nearest her with interest. The books had been grouped by size more than genre as far as she could tell and proved to be an eclectic mix of texts on a wide range of both Muggle and wizarding subjects, as well as a large number of fictional works. Judging by the battered condition, all of them had been bought second-hand; there wasn't a single new book that she could see. Looking behind her at the other rooms, she shook her head slowly. "Why do you live like this?"

He straightened slowly. "Like what?" he asked with a faint edge to his voice.

"Well, in a caravan, for a start. It's not exactly luxurious, is it?"

"You forget," he replied tightly, "I have been effectively dead for almost ten years. I could hardly wander into Gringotts and withdraw money from my vault, could I? And I wasn't particularly wealthy to start with. Besides, there are advantages to being mobile."

He had a point, and she suspected she had offended him by criticising his home. It wasn't as if her own flat was anything to boast about. "No, all right. But you could have modified it so it wasn't so cramped, at least."

"Why?" he asked indifferently. "I don't have many possessions anyway. It's big enough for my needs."

Sensing that this was a conversation she wasn't going to win, she surrendered. "All right. I'm sorry."

He shrugged as though it made no difference to him, and changed the subject. "Coffee?"

"Please," she replied gratefully. "It's freezing outside." He didn't reply, but once she had sat down in the living room with the drink he opened a cupboard and unearthed an electric heater, plugging it into an outlet on the wall and setting it on the table before closing the door. Hermione knew better than to thank him for the gesture; he would only ignore it or make a disparaging comment. "How do you get electricity in a caravan, anyway?" she asked.

"Illegally," he answered calmly. "I tapped into the supply for the caravan site. And I doubt you came here to criticise my living arrangements."

Accepting the rebuke, she shook her head. "No. I came to tell you that Minerva has agreed to talk to us both next week."

"Where?"

"My flat. Neutral ground."

"Hardly that," he muttered. Ignoring this, she handed him a piece of paper with the time and address on it. He read it without comment and put it in his pocket.

Looking around the room, taking more notice of things she had overlooked on previous visits, Hermione was startled to see what looked like a laptop bag on the floor under the table. "You have a computer?"

"And a television, as you have seen," he replied sardonically. "I'm a half-blood, remember. I was virtually brought up as a Muggle."

"Yes, but a computer," she commented softly.

Snape shrugged one thin shoulder. "The Internet is a useful source of news. And it passes the time."

"True. What do you do all day?" she asked curiously. She had a hard time filling the holidays; if she didn't work she would go insane with boredom within a month, and she doubted Snape was any better at coping with inaction.

"I watch television, listen to the radio. The computer. Mostly I read."

"Don't you get bored?"

"Not really." He paused, looking at her, and then shifted his gaze to the wall. "I have had more than enough excitement for several lifetimes. The peace and quiet is... something of a relief. Or it was," he added, glaring at her. She nodded diplomatically, knowing he didn't mean a word of it. He had been bored. After so long with such an 'exciting' life, no doubt he found it difficult to adjust to having nothing to do. And he had mentioned before that he didn't like the silence, that it left him with no way of avoiding thinking about unpleasant topics.

With that in mind, she changed the subject, asking about one of the books she had seen in the other room. From there the conversation wandered from subject to subject; Snape was even more widely read than she was. She could have talked to him for hours without getting bored, but while he was making them both another cup of coffee he suddenly hissed and dropped the mug. Startled, she looked at him and found him staring resignedly at the broken cup, rubbing his left arm mechanically; his fingers were twitching, and she bit her lip. This must be one of the episodes he had told her of. Not sure what to do, she stayed where she was; she could see his fingers cramping and curling into claws. Hermione watched uncertainly until he turned to look at her. "I would like you to leave now, please," he said quietly, his voice tight with an edge of pain.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked softly. He shook his head jerkily and seemed to regret it, lifting a hand to his temple for a moment.

"No. Just go."

"Severus..."

"I said, get out," he snapped, gritting his teeth and evidently forcing himself to remain standing straight-backed and pretending that nothing was wrong as the shaking grew worse. Nothing good could come of her staying, she realised. He clearly didn't want her to see this, and she could hardly blame him; in addition, if this was going to be a bad episode, he would be helpless.

"All right, I'm going." About to add that he should call if he needed anything, she bit back the words. _Save your breath, Hermione. He wouldn't call even if he were dying. _"I'll see you next week."

* * *

At home, she paced back and forth in her own living room that wasn't much bigger than his, worrying about him. No doubt that was a waste of time; he'd laugh at her if he knew. Remembering his face, she recalled the frustration there; she knew he hated feeling weak in any way, and it must grate to suffer from a debilitating illness when he wasn't even fifty – still relatively young even by Muggle standards, and young for a wizard who could confidently expect to see two centuries.

_Can he, though? _Even without this illness that might or might not prove fatal, he hadn't had an easy life. Thinking of the abuse his body had suffered over the years – and for every incident she knew about, Hermione was certain there were dozens that had been far worse – she wondered sadly whether he would reach a normal life expectancy and concluded that it was unlikely. What was worse was that he undoubtedly knew it. He'd sacrificed his health and any chance of a normal life, knowingly and willingly, and the only condition he had placed was that nobody else should know. She couldn't begin to imagine the kind of strength it took to do that.

And he had paid for it, heavily. She thought about her own experiences during the war, and those of her friends. None of them had come through unscathed; all of them had psychological scars as well as physical ones. And none of them had suffered even a small fraction of what Severus must have endured over the years, she reminded herself; the damage to his mental health must be worse than the physical problems he had now. She had no idea how he had survived; not only survived, but seemed – outwardly, at least – relatively normal.

_He deserves better than this. _From the start, Snape had insisted that Albus tell nobody of what he was doing or why. He didn't want to be a hero, he didn't want gratitude – just as well, Hermione admitted guiltily, since she doubted he would have received any – but he surely deserved more of a reward than lying alone and ill in a tiny, shabby caravan in a world of people who would happily kill him on sight. Sternly she ordered herself not to cry; if he had to endure this, the least she could do was not fall apart about it.

Ironically, given all his current problems, he actually looked better now than he had done ten years ago. No doubt his unpleasant appearance had been part of his defence mechanisms, or some strange means of punishing himself. She pictured him as he was now and compared it to her memories of her Potions teacher, listing the main differences thoughtfully. Snape was never going to be attractive in a thousand years, but he looked better now than he ever had; yet he was obviously in worse health.

_Irony is a bitch sometimes. _No doubt he knew that better than anyone.

* * *

The next day she hurried back to the caravan early, unable to stay away any longer. She had considered just calling and leaving a message, but she wouldn't put it past him to deliberately refuse to respond out of sheer contrariness. To her relief, he was up and moving around outside, hanging clean laundry on a length of string tied between the caravan and a scrubby tree; the shadows beneath his eyes were deeper and he was moving stiffly, but he seemed all right.

Curious, she glanced at the clothes he was hanging out; all the same sort of Muggle clothing she had seen before, jeans and t-shirts, all showing signs of wear. It seemed odd that he was wearing such shabby clothes. After a moment Hermione realised that it was even stranger that he was doing washing; all right, she herself preferred clothes that had been cleaned by hand rather than by magic, but now that she thought about it she couldn't recall seeing him use magic at all since meeting him again. The thought made her shiver; what if he had lost that, too? It was possible, maybe even probable.

"Hello," she greeted him as neutrally as she could manage. He only grunted in reply, focusing on what he was doing; she watched him more closely, noticing that he was trying to avoid using his left hand. Knowing better than to offer to help, she waited until he was finished before following him inside, and only then did she ask softly, "Are you all right?"

He shrugged. "As much as I ever am. It wasn't bad this time."

"Do a lot of wizards wash their clothes by hand?" she asked, trying to approach the subject with at least some degree of subtlety.

"I would have no way of knowing," he replied slowly, giving her an odd look and seeming puzzled; she had to admit it had been a strange question, even for her.

_So much for subtlety_. "Well," she began carefully, "it just occurred to me that I haven't seen you use magic since we met. Your wand was broken in the Shack..."

His eyes had turned flat as he realised what she was saying. "I replaced it within days," he replied shortly. "I have no intention of being defenceless. And my use of magic is really none of your business."

"Maybe not, but since the war we have all become too familiar with the kinds of things that can happen as a result of prolonged stress or injury," she said, trying not to trigger his temper. Rather than anger, though, he seemed exasperated by the implication.

"Not that I owe you an explanation, but doing household chores the Muggle way passes the time and helps remind me that I am to all outward appearances a Muggle. I assure you, if I were to have lost my magic through either stress or injury it would have happened long before the end of the war. And I would hardly have agreed to return to Hogwarts – a _magical school _– in order to teach a _magical subject _if I were reduced to Squib status," he added, sneering at her and giving her a look of withering scorn.

Hermione gave him a level look, ignoring the fact that he had just made an excellent point. "And of course, you are such an honest and open man that I should accept this on faith?" she asked as sarcastically as she dared. The expression in his eyes changed, but before she could identify it she found herself in the grip of a full Body-Bind. Unable to move or even blink, she glared at him, but privately she was impressed, albeit reluctantly; she'd never even seen him draw the wand he now held pointed at her. He was smirking, clear amusement in his face.

After taking a long moment to apparently enjoy the sight, he flicked the tip of his wand casually and released her. "Satisfied?"

Glaring at him, she nodded curtly, both annoyed and embarrassed. "Where did the wand come from?" she asked.

"Ollivander, of course. He is still the best wand maker alive. Twelve inches, rowan and dragon heartstring." He contemplated the slim length of wood reflectively. "It suits me better than my old one."

"You Obliviated Ollivander afterwards?"

"Naturally, or he would have run to tell the Order of my visit."

"That was hardly kind."

He rolled his eyes. "Spare me your bleeding-heart sensibilities. I _could _have killed him. And I paid for the wand." Scowling, she subsided into silence for a while. It had been a long time since she had seen Snape perform magic; she'd never seen anyone draw their wand that fast. And he was still a master of non-verbal spells, it seemed. His reflexes apparently hadn't dulled. No wonder he had survived the war, really; he was still a very dangerous man.

By the time she looked up again, he was leafing through the pages of a book. She couldn't see the title or the author, but what really had her staring was the fact that he was wearing reading glasses, something else she had never seen before. In a peculiar way, they suited him.

"You're staring," he informed her without looking up.

"Sorry. I didn't know you wore glasses."

"Many reptilian venoms affect the optic nerves," he responded, turning a page. Startled by the apparent non-sequitur, it took her a moment to realise what he was telling her; the snake bite had affected his vision as well.

"Can it be fixed?"

"Not by myself. A Healer could perhaps do something, but wearing reading glasses is hardly an inconvenience; I only need them when I am tired, anyway. The damage is slight and will not grow worse, at least until I reach old age – assuming I live that long. It hardly seems worth the effort."

"What about your knee?"

He shrugged, putting the book and his glasses aside. "No. It's been too long; the joint has partially fused. Short of something dramatic such as removing and regrowing the bones in my leg, there is nothing to be done. It doesn't hurt. The joint is mobile enough that I can still climb stairs easily and drive a car. Again, it doesn't seem worth the effort of trying to fix it."

"I would have expected you to be angrier about it," she said without thinking.

Snape looked faintly amused. "It has been almost ten years, Miss Granger. People change. I have had a great deal of time to think about what has happened to me; I assure you, had this meeting taken place even five years ago, you would have been highly unlikely to survive the experience. Post traumatic stress disorder does not even begin to cover it."

That was probably true enough, she supposed. They had all been very different immediately after the war; such effects took time to heal. "Speaking of people changing," she said curiously, "you said your new wand suits you more than your old one?"

He nodded. "I had been using it since I was eleven; it was well matched to me then, less so as I matured. Those of your friends who have broken their wands and had to replace them will have found that the new wand seems stronger and more effective than the old one. What suits a person when they are a child will very seldom still suit them in adulthood. There are many aspects of magic that change with time as a witch or wizard matures; another example might be the Patronus. Not everyone keeps the same Patronus throughout their entire life."

"You did," she said without thinking, and cursed herself for mentioning it, glancing at him uneasily.

Contrary to her expectations, he didn't look angry or upset, only pensive. "Yes, for a very long time," he agreed softly. "The circumstances were... somewhat exceptional." He hesitated, glancing at her and then looking away, apparently arguing with himself; finally he exhaled and continued even more softly, "Nonetheless... even one such as I can change."

She blinked, staring at him. "You mean your Patronus has changed? It's not the doe any more?"

"It is not."

"But... why?"

"I assume because it was no longer needed." He was looking a little uncomfortable now, but still seemed surprisingly willing to talk about this. "I told you, I have had a great deal of time to think. Some of the things occupying me were topics that I had not had the time or the inclination to consider before, including... Lily."

It was the first time she had heard him say her name. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but he kept talking, struggling to try and explain something so intensely personal that she felt embarrassed on his behalf. "My actions during the second war were not entirely for her, unlike the first. By that point, I had largely repaid my debt to her as much as it could ever be repaid. She... Lily... was a – a symbol, if you will, a figurehead, representing..."

"Everyone who died because of you," she said quietly. "Everyone you felt you owed a debt to." She wondered just how many people were on that list, and decided after a quick look at his face that she didn't want to know.

"Yes."

"So once Vol – the Dark Lord died, your debt was paid, as much as it could be," she said thoughtfully. "Is that why your Patronus changed?"

"That is most of the reason, I believe. There is no way to know for sure, but I think so. Its current form is probably what it always would have been had circumstances not created the doe; the true representation of me, perhaps. It is a difficult concept to describe."

She nodded. "Even so, I _think _I can see what you're trying to say. You said 'most' of the reason?" she asked hesitantly, knowing that sooner or later she was surely going to push too far and cause him to clam up. He looked acutely uncomfortable, shifting uneasily, and she added, "I know, it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me."

"No," he muttered, "but I am starting to believe that I have to tell _someone. _It might as well be you. As you are no doubt aware, it is not particularly healthy to refuse to talk of such things. As you are also aware, I have been avoiding such discussions for most of my life." Despite this admission, he fell silent and stared into the distance, his eyes very far away, and it was a long time before he spoke again; the silence hung between them, broken only by the faint sound of the ever-present radio. Clearly, needing to talk and wanting to talk were two very different things; still, he obviously knew she wouldn't repeat this to anyone. She waited silently until he finally began to talk again, still staring at nothing.

"My feelings for her have not changed, but I understand them more clearly now. It was never love. I am hardly an expert on the subject, but I know what I believe love to be, and Lily... wasn't it. It was... need. I don't know a better word for it. She was the first, the _only _one who ever willingly wanted to even talk to me. It is hardly surprising that I attached myself to her so desperately; she was all I had. I defined myself by her. Looking back now, I see how unnatural and almost obsessive it was, and it certainly was not reciprocated in any way. Lily had all the friends she wanted; she never needed me at all."

"I'm sure she cared for you," Hermione said carefully. She wasn't at all sure why he was talking about this, but she was worried that at any moment he would realise what he was saying and lose his temper or something, and she certainly had no idea how to comfort him – if that was what he wanted. She wasn't certain. He seemed more thoughtful than anything else, and his expression was impossible to read.

"Yes, but not in the way I wanted, the way I thought I needed. There would never have been anything between us, I realised that at a very early age. That would have driven us apart eventually, no matter what else happened. In any case, she did not fully accept me; she was constantly trying to change things about me. Mostly for the best of reasons, of course, but still, you know what they say about good intentions..." After a moment he spoke more briskly. "To return to the original topic, then, my Patronus remained a doe for symbolic reasons rather than emotive ones. Once the symbol was no longer needed, it changed."

"What is it now?" she asked curiously.

He drew his wand from his belt slowly. "It may not work," he warned her. "The Patronus charm has always been a difficult spell for me; I was the only Death Eater who could produce one, and for a time after the war I was unable to cast it at all. In my darker moments I believed it was because the Patronus charm is _the _definitive Light spell; truthfully I suspect I simply don't have any happy memories that are powerful enough." Closing his eyes, he concentrated. "_Expecto patronum."_

She could see what he meant. The silver mist that swirled from his wand seemed almost muted, grey and dim compared to others she had seen, including her own Patronus, and it only slowly resolved into a coherent shape. When she saw the form it had taken, though, she laughed aloud. "It's absolutely perfect."

Snape rolled his eyes. "The irony wasn't lost on me, either," he commented sardonically as the Patronus faded.

"Does this mean my Patronus will change at some point as I grow older? It hasn't so far."

"I don't know, but it is possible. You are still young – actually, I don't recall your age," he admitted. "I lose track of the years."

"I'm twenty eight," she replied, still amused by his new Patronus. "Twenty years younger than you, I think."

"Yes," he agreed. "Anyway, you are very young for a witch. You will change a great deal throughout your life. The Patronus sometimes reflects that. What is its form?" he asked curiously.

"An otter." He blinked, frowning, and she looked at him. "You seem surprised."

"It is... not what I would have expected," he replied slowly, before shrugging slightly. "An interesting form."

"Interesting, how?" she demanded, slightly exasperated.

His lips twitched. "The otter is one of the Native American totem animals. Are you aware of them?"

"Native Americans believe that they have a totem animal that acts as a kind of guardian spirit," she replied slowly. "Someone's personal totem changes as their needs change; the totem teaches lessons."

"Basically correct," he agreed. "Each totem has different characteristics. Do you know what Otter represents?"

"No."

"Come." Standing, he led her down the length of the caravan to the small book-lined room at the far end. Running his fingers along a shelf, he selected a book, put his glasses on and flicked deftly through the pages to the section he wanted. Smirking, he began to read aloud. "_'Otters awaken curiosity. They remind us that everything is interesting if we look at it from the right angle. The Otter totem is connected to the primal feminine energies of life: the elements of both Earth and Water are present in Otter medicine. With an Otter totem, you must remember the beauty of a balanced female side, creating a space for others to enter our lives without preconceptions or suspicions. Otter teaches that balanced female energy is not catty or jealous, but it is sisterhood and sharing with others. Otter expresses joy for others..._'"

"Oh, God!" She was laughing so hard she could barely speak. "That's ghastly. Does it really say that?"

"See for yourself."

"This isn't a Native American book!" she protested, still laughing.

He smirked again. "No, it isn't. It's one of those bizarre New Age books all about Gaia and karma and the healing power of crystals. It also advises you that if an Otter has entered your life, you should awaken your inner child."

She lost control once more, giggling helplessly. "Primal feminine energies," she choked.

His lips twitched again. "The comments about sisterhood are worse. Having been present in the staff room for some truly memorable arguments, I can personally attest that female energy is extremely catty."

"Maybe they just weren't _balanced_," she suggested breathlessly, fighting to stop laughing. "Trelawney at least always struck me as pretty unbalanced." His face contorted, and after a long moment he started laughing. Sheer shock halted Hermione's giggles; she'd never heard him genuinely laugh before. This wasn't the harsh, bitter, mocking sound she was used to, but real humour, a deep laugh that was rusty from lack of use. Instantly she resolved to try to make him laugh more often; it was a wonderful sound. It was also contagious, and she started laughing again as she looked back at the book he held.

By the time they had both managed to control themselves, her ribs were aching. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkling with more life than she had ever seen in his expression. "All right, enough," she said shakily, grinning at him. "What do the Native Americans say?"

Smiling slightly in a very rare display of humour that wasn't nasty, he found the proper book. Reading slowly, he frowned, tapping the page with a long finger. "Actually, perhaps the Otter is not such a surprising totem," he murmured. "Interesting."

"Severus, don't be infuriating."

"It's a natural gift," he replied dryly, closing the book and handing it to her. "You can borrow this one if you like. I think you'll find it interesting."

"Thank you."

"I trust I need not point out that if you damage it in any way, you will regret it?"

"Do I seem the sort of person to allow a book to be damaged?" she retorted.

"True."

"Earlier you said you know what you believe love to be..."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Go away, Miss Granger. I've opened up as much as I'm going to today," he told her dryly. "My medication may make me talkative, but there are limits."

"You're no fun."

"I haven't awoken my inner child," he told her sarcastically, making her fight back another fit of the giggles. "Just as well; I suspect it is even more dysfunctional than my outer adult. Now be off."

"Yes, _sir, _Professor Snape," she responded pertly, biting her lip to hold back a grin in the face of his scowl. Letting herself out, she walked away across the caravan site, thinking about his new Patronus and smiling; when she closed her eyes, she could still see the lean, sharp-muzzled silvery fox standing in the dim caravan.

* * *

Later, she curled up on the bed in her flat with a purring Crookshanks next to her, looking through the book he had lent her. He was right, it was fascinating. Turning the pages, she looked up Otter as a totem and began to read to the cat.

"_'A little quirky, and unorthodox, the Otter is a hard one to figure sometimes. Perceived as unconventional, the Otter methods aren't the first ones chosen to get the job done. This is a big mistake on the part of others – because although unconventional, the Otter's methods are usually quite effective. Yes, the Otter has an unusual way of looking at things, but he/she is equipped with a brilliant imagination and intelligence, allowing him/her an edge over everyone else. Often very perceptive and intuitive, the Otter makes a very good friend, and can be very attentive. In a nurturing environment the Otter is sensitive, sympathetic, courageous, and honest. Left to his/her own devices, the Otter can be unscrupulous, lewd, rebellious, and isolated.'_"

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "He was right," she told the uninterested cat. "That's actually not that far off. Well, except for the 'lewd' part," she added dryly. "What does it say about Fox?" She flicked through the pages, and after a while turned to her computer, assembling notes.

"_'Overwhelmingly, cultural consensus on fox animal symbolism deals with cunning, strategy, quick thinking, adaptability, cleverness and wisdom. In Native American lore, fox animal symbolism deals with two interpretations. One perspective (Northern tribes) observes the fox as a wise and noble messenger. The other (Plains tribes) views the fox as a trickster playing pranks, or worse - luring one to demise. Other generalised fox symbolic meanings deal with focus, determination and right-action. _

_'It is noteworthy to observe the fox while it is on the hunt. We see its entire body is pointed like an arrow - straight and tightly aimed. This is a symbolic message for us to set a determined, and powerfully focused mindset in order to "hit the target" of our desires. _

_'The red in the fox is representative of a solar emblem. As a solar emblem the fox animal symbolism deals with passion, desire, intensity and expression. The fox encourages us to think outside of the box and use our intelligence in different, creative ways. The fox also brings us a message to try to approach our circumstances differently from our normal methods. Be aware of some of our habits, and try a different angle of action. _

_'The fox is also a reminder that we must utilise all of our resources (seen and unseen) in order to accomplish our goals. Sometimes this means calling upon some unorthodox methods. Furthermore, the fox is a sign to be mindful of our surroundings. Immaculate shape shifters and incredibly adaptable, the fox beckons us to not make too many waves but rather, adapt to our surroundings, blend into it, and use our surroundings (and circumstances) to our advantage. _

_'It should be obvious from this summary that fox animal symbolism goes far beyond what we may see on the surface. On the contrary, the fox has an incredible amount of knowledge and wisdom to share with us if/when we are willing to be still for the teachings.'_

"I was right, Crooks," she told the cat. "It's absolutely perfect for him."

Thinking about it later, Hermione mused that the two totems didn't seem so far apart, either. Both Fox and Otter were apparently highly intelligent, unorthodox and not always easy to understand. She had to admit, those labels fit both herself and Snape very well. She'd enjoyed their conversation; it felt good to be able to sit and discuss such an abstract concept. None of her other friends would have been remotely interested. Even her teaching colleagues were seldom interested in deep intellectual discussions, except about their own particular subject. At least when Snape returned to teaching she would have someone to talk to, if she could persuade him not to avoid her.

_

* * *

The quotes about totems were found online but I lost the websites. Next chapter - the last before the return to Hogwarts - in a few days as usual.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_This is the last chapter before the return to Hogwarts.  


* * *

_

**"****Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler.****"**  
– Friedrich Nietzsche.

* * *

When she dropped by the caravan briefly the following day to return the book, Hermione found him sitting on the steps in the sunshine, his bad leg stretching down to the bottom step. He seemed to be fiddling with a piece of paper; as she drew closer, she realised he was folding it carefully and precisely. "Is that origami?" she asked curiously.

As usual, he didn't seem remotely surprised to see her. "It is."

"An unconventional hobby," she observed, leaning against the side of the caravan to watch.

His long fingers carefully teased another crease into line. "As with many things, it loses its mystery when you look more closely," he replied. "For someone as unpopular as myself, origami is ideal; should someone take exception to it, all that is lost is a single piece of paper."

"Accurate and cynical as ever," Hermione told him mildly. "What are you making?"

"Nothing, yet," he replied absently, apparently concentrating on what he was doing. "Merely experimenting with shapes."

"I finished the book you lent me. It was very interesting. Do all Patronuses represent totems?"

"Not to my knowledge." Carefully bending back a corner of the paper, he looked up at her, his eyes narrowing a little against the bright light; the sunlight showed them to be true black, the irises almost indistinguishable from the pupils. "Not to that extent, at least. I would say that all Patronuses reveal something of the nature of the witch or wizard who casts them, but most – if not all – do not reflect as much as a totem animal would. Do you know anyone with a truly inappropriate Patronus?"

"Not now that yours has changed, no," she admitted cautiously. "Even knowing the reasons for it, a doe never really seemed like you."

"True," he agreed with a soft snort, evidently – and somewhat surprisingly – not offended.

"Is there an equivalent of the Patronus charm?" she asked hesitantly.

"For Dark wizards, you mean?" he asked bluntly. When she nodded, he considered for a moment. "If there is, I never found reference to it. I do not believe so. Dark magic allows more direct methods of dealing with Dementors and there are other ways of carrying messages."

Hermione nodded and silence fell between them; as she had observed before, it wasn't uncomfortable as such. After a few minutes he laid the half-folded paper inside the doorway and shifted, bracing his arms and levering himself to his feet, compensating for his stiff right leg without seeming to think about it; obviously he was well used to making allowances for the injury. Regaining his balance, he dug into the pocket of his jeans for a packet of cigarettes and a battered, dented Zippo lighter.

"You do know how bad smoking is for your health, don't you?" she asked in a disapproving voice.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Astounding though it may seem, my level of intelligence is sufficiently high enough and my grasp of the Muggle world complete enough for me to understand the concept," Snape replied in his most irritating drawl before lighting up and taking a drag, exhaling a thin plume of smoke.

Trying to stand out of the way of the smoke, she frowned and inhaled cautiously. "It doesn't smell like a normal cigarette."

He gave her an amused look. "As you have no doubt observed, normal cigarettes often smell unpleasant. I smoke to relax, not to end up reeking like the alley outside a pub. These are my one luxury. As I understand it, they are less likely to poison me, too." Leaning against the wall of the caravan, he glanced sideways at her. "Why you never went into Healing is beyond me. You would have been able to nag people all day and ask as many questions as your heart could possibly desire. The only career more likely for you would have been a librarian, but I suspect you would have been sacked for reading the entire stock instead of actually working."

"Thank you for the careers advice, Professor," she replied sarcastically. "It's only about a decade too late."

"Better late than never, they say," he responded idly. "Yet another Muggle phrase I have never wholly understood. In any case, that was not advice, merely an observation. Surely your parents would have been more impressed with a career in healing? I seem to recall they are something in healthcare..." He trailed off at the expression on her face, his eyes turning wary; she tried to relax her clenched fists and breathed out slowly.

"Do not mention my parents."

His black eyes looked almost bewildered for a moment before hardening into indifference. "As you wish."

"You know," she said angrily, "a decent human being would apologise."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If I knew what I was meant to apologise for, I might consider it."

"As if you don't know," she snapped. "It was headline news for weeks."

He sighed. "Miss Granger, I have no idea what you are talking about. Either talk sense or go away; I spent too many years reluctantly forced into the company of Albus Dumbledore at his most infuriating to have any appreciation for riddles."

Slowly raising her head, she met his eyes directly, something she had never done for more than a few seconds in all the years she'd known him. Their dark depths were as difficult to read as ever, but he did look honestly puzzled by her reaction. She remembered what he had told her of his whereabouts during the past decade and concluded that it was faintly possible that he really didn't know what he had said.

"After the war, my parents effectively disowned me," she told him finally, in a voice that didn't sound much like her own. "I haven't seen them or spoken to them in over eight years; I don't know where they are now. They could be dead, for all I know." Their eye contact still held; this close, she could see his pupils dilate a little, his eyes widening slightly and his brows furrowing in what certainly seemed genuine surprise.

"Why?" he questioned softly.

"Because I tried to keep them safe," she said bitterly. When she had restored their real memories, they hadn't forgiven her. She couldn't really blame them, but that didn't stop it hurting.

There was a long silence; she refused to explain any further, and after a few moments he dropped his gaze and avoided her eyes. He turned his cigarette in his fingers, fiddling with it uneasily, and finally stubbed it out and dropped the end into the bottle on the steps as he usually did. "My apologies for mentioning it," he said finally.

"You truly didn't know?"

"No. Although of course you only have my word for it," he added with a faint edge to his voice.

She sighed. "I didn't mean that. It just... caught me by surprise. I still find it difficult to talk about them. It really was headline news in the _Prophet, _you know."

The tension grew between them for a moment, before he gave that harsh grating mock-laugh of his again. "_Homines quod volunt credunt_; people believe what they want to. A fact I am sure we can both appreciate. I should not have mentioned it." She nodded, and after a while followed him inside in silence, accepting the drink he handed her and curling up on her usual sofa to stare distantly into the cup.

"Do you have any family?" she asked finally. The brief interlude had given her time to appreciate what he had told her about disliking silence; without some sort of distraction there was no way to stop herself thinking about it. The radio might work for him, but it didn't seem to be enough for her.

"No," he replied quietly. "I never had many relatives. By the time I came to Hogwarts my parents were all I had left; they died when I was sixteen."

She looked up, startled. "That long ago? But..."

"I know. My record states that they were killed in an accident when I was in my twenties. I am sure it will not surprise you to learn that I lied. I returned home from Hogwarts for the summer vacation and found them dead in the front room," he said dispassionately. "As I had no wish to be taken into care, and as it was only a little over six months before I would come of age in the wizarding world, I chose not to inform Hogwarts, and I lied about my age to the Muggle authorities."

"I'm sorry."

"I can't imagine why. Neither of them were any great loss."

She had the uncomfortable impression that he genuinely meant it. Harry had told her of the brief glimpse of Snape's childhood that he had seen during an Occlumency lesson, and what she had seen herself in memories had enhanced that knowledge that he had obviously not had a pleasant upbringing, but to hear such a complete lack of emotion in his voice was disturbing. _Perhaps it's how he copes with things. _"How did they die?"

"Gas leak. Carbon monoxide poisoning," he replied briefly, clearly not wishing to elaborate. She let the subject drop. After a few moments he reached for his wand and Summoned the piece of half-folded paper he had been playing with earlier, studying it for a moment before smoothing it out and beginning a series of quick folds. She watched him, letting the radio music wash over her and losing herself in the deft, sure movements of his hands, those long fingers working in perfect precision despite dozens of tiny scars and calluses.

He sensed her watching him, of course. From the time when she was eleven years old she had noticed that he always knew when someone was looking at him. Instead of the expected scowl or sneer, though, he seemed to ignore her scrutiny completely save for a faint tension in his shoulders; in fact, he slowed the movements of his hands and angled his fingers so that she could see more clearly. It was fascinating to watch the paper slowly taking shape, and she could understand why he had this particular hobby.

Finally he glanced up at her with a faintly amused expression and held up what looked to Hermione like a crumpled mess. Taking hold of the paper at certain points, he did something she couldn't quite see and before her eyes it turned into a beautiful many-pointed, three-dimensional star, which he presented to her with a somewhat theatrical flourish.

"It's wonderful," she told him sincerely. "How did you learn to do it?"

"An answer I am sure you will appreciate, Miss Granger; from a book."

"Do you have any books on origami I could borrow?" she asked eagerly, her enthusiasm making him smirk for a moment before the amusement faded from his face and left his eyes expressionless once more.

"No. They were in Spinner's End."

_They were burned. _"I'm sorry."

"One of the more annoying habits of Gryffindors," he observed bitingly, "is their tendency to apologise for things which were absolutely nothing to do with them. Unless you personally set the fire, which I am certain you did not, your apology is scarcely appropriate to the situation."

"Whereas Slytherins never apologise at all unless prodded into it at wand point?"

About to answer, he paused and tilted his head slightly as a thought occurred to him; after a moment he chuckled softly. "Ah. Ironic."

"What is?"

"It occurs to me that I have many times spoken to deliberately cause you pain, and yet... the one time I apologise is the one time that it was a genuine accident."

She had to admit, that was pretty ironic.

* * *

The following week brought the expected media frenzy...

_SNAPE LIVES!_

_Death Eater to Teach at Hogwarts Again?_

_One of the most notorious criminals from the war against Voldemort, it was believed that Severus Snape – best known for his murder of Albus Dumbledore – had been killed in the Final Battle. We now know that he is in fact alive. Not only that, but it is being proposed that he will be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and resuming his teaching career._

_The question of just whose side Snape (48) was on has never been satisfactorily answered. Many high-standing members of the Order of the Phoenix, most notably Harry Potter (28) himself, indicated that they were privy to information that the rest of us do not have and that everything Snape did was part of Albus Dumbledore's master plan for defeating Voldemort. More details on page two._

_In 1981 Snape was tried as a Death Eater, and escaped imprisonment solely due to the persuasive testimony of Dumbledore himself, who proclaimed that Snape was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, contradicting the evidence of many other Death Eaters at their own trials (full story on page six)._

_Following his murder of Albus Dumbledore in the summer of 1997, Snape was named Headmaster of Hogwarts by Voldemort himself, and perpetuated a reign of terror with his fellow Death Eaters, Alecto and Amycus Carrow (see page four for a full account of that year) before fleeing the school during the Final Battle._

_It is unclear just how Snape survived the war, when there were several eyewitness accounts of his death shortly before Harry Potter's defeat of Voldemort, nor is anything known of his whereabouts since that time. His current location is also a mystery at this time, but in September it seems he will be returning to the scene of his worst crimes; he will once again resume his former employment as Head of Slytherin House and Potions teacher at Hogwarts._

_The current Headmistress is Professor Minerva McGonagall (82), herself a high-standing member of the Order of the Phoenix. She was not available for comment, but has provided us with the following brief statement: _

_'Whatever Professor Snape may or may not have done in the past, nobody can deny that he is a highly competent teacher. There were no more qualified applicants for the post, and he has been cleared of all charges; I have seen evidence that his actions throughout the war were part of the larger plan and in the end he proved necessary to Harry's defeat of Voldemort. In view of this, he has Hogwarts' full support.'_

_We have thus far been unable to locate the man himself to ask him where he has been or why he has decided to reveal himself at this time; there is an unfortunate history between this publication and Snape and he has proved to be less than cooperative in the past. Our efforts are ongoing._

_(The Daily Prophet, 2008)

* * *

_The _Daily Prophet _devoted an entire edition to the return of Severus Snape to the wizarding world, digging up and raking over every detail of his past crimes – both known and speculated – and reiterating all of the testimonies that had eventually granted a reluctant verdict that he was on the side of the Light (which wasn't the same as innocent). For the rest of the week they published a great many letters from people giving their opinion of his return to his role as Potions teacher; Hermione was almost certain there hadn't been a single letter of support.

In the midst of this chaos came the meeting between Snape and Minerva McGonagall. It wasn't what Hermione had expected. She had thought Snape would be his usual caustic self, aggressive in his demands and haughty in his refusal to compromise; instead he seemed almost subdued, tired and unwilling to argue. He was ill at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings and clearly uncertain of his relationship with his Headmistress; that was understandable, Hermione supposed. They had been teacher and student for a long time, then colleagues, and they hadn't liked one another much even then by all appearances. And then, of course, Snape had killed Dumbledore and taken over as Headmaster. Ginny, Neville and Luna hadn't gone into much detail about that final year, but she knew he had tortured them all personally on more than one occasion and had allowed the Carrows to do so as well.

The meeting had been awkward, but not as bad as it could have been. In part, surprisingly, that had been due to Crookshanks; the cat had challenged Snape at the door as he did to every visitor. To her surprise, Snape had bent and held a hand out to the cat, who had sniffed his fingers suspiciously before – even more surprisingly – starting to purr and nudging the long fingers in an imperious demand to be stroked. Hermione had known for many years that her familiar was a very good judge of people; evidently Crooks had decided that Snape wasn't all bad.

Snape's contract had been drawn up and duly signed. Personally, Hermione wasn't sure it was entirely fair; there were a lot more clauses in it than her own. Still, he didn't seem to have any objections, and had confided as he left that it was more than he had been expecting to get. Now it was official; Severus Snape would be joining the Hogwarts faculty once more at the beginning of September in his former role as Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House.

Amongst her friends, only Harry and Ginny had known in advance. Neville had been horrified to learn that his old nemesis was returning to the school, but Hermione had pointed out that the Herbology teacher and the Potions teacher were very unlikely to encounter one another and that Snape would be very happy to completely ignore all of his colleagues whenever possible. Ron had been outraged, and currently wasn't speaking to her – there was nothing new in that; he generally found a reason to stop speaking to her every few months. The rest of the Weasleys were more guarded, and the general consensus was that they would wait and see what happened. Luna... Well, Luna never reacted in the same way as most people. Hermione had told her the full story of Snape's return; the former Ravenclaw had been acutely interested and seemed sincerely pleased, for reasons known only to herself.

It was a long and chaotic week before Hermione managed to return to the caravan. Snape didn't seem to be enjoying his return to the spotlight; she had expected that, but it was still a jolt to see him looking tired and irritable as he sat at the table in the caravan methodically shredding the _Prophet _into strips and depositing them in a neat pile. Knowing better than to ask if he was all right, she sat down opposite him.

"That's a very old photograph of you, isn't it?"

"There are very few photographs of me in existence," he replied without looking up. "If I had my way there would be none."

"I was thinking..."

"Those words, coming from you, always fill me with dread."

"Turn the sarcasm down and listen, please. I was thinking that perhaps you should give an interview. Nothing elaborate, nothing that can be twisted and butchered. Just a statement, published verbatim. Something that would get your side of the story out."

"In the _Prophet_?" he asked sardonically. He smirked. "They are still afraid to speak to me, it seems."

"Merlin, no, not the _Prophet_. I suspect that what they did to Harry's interviews when we were younger would look like a picnic in comparison. No, Luna offered to publish it in _The Quibbler_ – she's taken over from her father as editor."

"_The Quibbler_," he repeated flatly.

"I know it sounds stupid, but it worked for Harry in our fifth year."

"Hmm," he replied noncommittally.

"What did you do to make the _Prophet _reporters too frightened to come looking for you?" she asked curiously. He smirked at her again, but didn't answer. He said nothing else for a time; she watched him systematically destroying the newspaper, page by page, until finally he drew his wand and incinerated the shredded remains before Vanishing the ashes.

"Feel better?" she asked sarcastically.

He snorted. "I don't believe I've ever read an issue of the _Prophet _that shouldn't suffer the same fate; before publication, in most cases. As for your suggestion... I will think about it."

* * *

He did more than think about it, it seemed. Three days later she received an advance copy of the _Quibbler _from Luna, complete with a much more recent picture of Snape scowling at her from the cover. Amused, Hermione opened the magazine and scanned the article. As with the man himself, his statement was terse and to the point:

_'I returned to Britain three years ago, having spent the time since the end of the war travelling. The decision to return to the wizarding world in general and to Hogwarts specifically was not made lightly; however, it was brought to my attention that Horace Slughorn was retiring and that the Headmistress was having some difficulty in finding a replacement. After a great deal of discussion, a contract was drawn up that satisfied all parties, and I will rejoin the faculty at the start of term._

_'I have no intention of speaking of the events of the war. As far as I am concerned, that is in the past and should remain there; those who needed to know the truth know it. Nor do I intend to either confirm or deny the myriad rumours that have spread in the years since I left. I am returning as Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House, nothing more. I should also advise anyone intending to send any form of correspondence that the Headmistress will be personally screening all mail addressed to me and that I can only be contacted at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.'_

_(The Quibbler, 2008)_

That was a sensible decision, Hermione decided, recalling her own brief experience of hate mail. Somehow, she thought that Snape would attract worse than Howlers and Bubotuber pus. She wasn't at all surprised that her role in Snape's return wasn't mentioned, either. Rolling the magazine up, she headed out to the caravan site, which was blistering in the heatwave that had descended.

Reflecting this change in the weather, the caravan was stiflingly hot, which perhaps explained why he was sitting on the steps and reading. That wasn't what had her stopping some distance away and staring, though, but his clothing; due to the heat, no doubt, he was wearing – she couldn't quite manage to call it a vest, not in connection with Snape, and substituted 'sleeveless t-shirt' instead. The sports bandage was back on his arm, hiding the Dark Mark from view, but he hadn't bothered to conceal any of the other scars she could see. There were quite a few visible on both his arms, and at least one more was visible over the low neck of the shirt, snaking over one shoulder, as well as the two jagged snakebite scars on his throat. Most men in her experience only wore sleeveless shirts to show off muscles; not so with Snape, it seemed. He was more strongly built than she had thought, but that wasn't saying much; he was still noticeably thin, the lines of his bones visible throughout his frame.

With an effort, she stopped herself from staring before he sensed it, and walked over to him. He glanced up from his book and removed his glasses as she approached, raising an eyebrow as she held up the _Quibbler. _"And what did you think?" he asked sardonically.

"It's a better photo," she told him truthfully, shaking her head and trying not to smile. "But I'm crushed that you didn't thank me in print, Severus, really."

He rolled his eyes. "I assumed that you would have had enough publicity to last several lifetimes by this point. Was I wrong?" he challenged her.

"No," she admitted softly. "No, you weren't wrong. Thank you." His flashes of understanding were surprising every time they happened – which admittedly wasn't often. He looked away without answering, and in a brief moment of understanding of her own she realised again that he grew uncomfortable when thanked even for something minor; he didn't like being acknowledged, even for something as simple as making her a cup of coffee. It was just one more twist in the most complex man she had ever met.

"So," she said conversationally, "less than a month left until the start of term."

"Yes."

"How are you feeling about it?"

Snape looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Truthfully, I am wondering why I ever let you talk me into it."

"Because you're bored," Hermione told him, ticking the reasons off on her fingers, "and because you miss Hogwarts if not the people there, and because you need the laboratory, and because part of you can't get out of the habit of feeling responsible for Slytherin." She had been thinking about that question and its answer for weeks.

She was getting better at reading the minute changes in his expression; he looked noticeably taken aback by her insights and appeared slightly unnerved. Only for a moment, before his trademark sneer replaced the softer expression and he drawled, "Still an insufferable know-it-all, I see."

"Yes," she agreed calmly, trying not to smile. "It doesn't seem likely that I will grow out of that."

"How delightful," he said sourly. "I also understand I will have to endure Longbottom's presence once more."

"I assure you, he isn't looking forward to it either," she replied, fighting back a giggle. "As I told him, you're not likely to see one another outside of meals or staff meetings. He spends most of his time in the greenhouses, and I imagine you're not likely to surface from your dungeons unless you absolutely have to."

"An astute observation. If you recall, I insisted to McGonagall that my attendance at meals not be compulsory, precisely so that I would not have to spend more time than necessary with – well, anyone."

Theatrically, Hermione laid a hand over her heart. "Why, Severus. And there was me labouring under the delusion that you could just barely tolerate my company on occasion."

"You surely know me better than that," he told her dryly. "I tolerate no company but my own."

"And yet, here I am," she pointed out softly. "You haven't thrown me out yet."

"My mistake, clearly," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes at him. "If you say so. Nonetheless, I would hope you won't disappear entirely into the depths of the castle. I seem to recall you telling me once – in fifth year, I believe – that I required regular deflating to prevent those around me from being driven to murder; something I am sure you are better qualified to provide than anyone." He smirked, and she smiled wryly back at him.

"On a more serious note," she added more quietly, "I haven't forgotten your real reason for taking this job. I want to help."

He scowled at her. "I neither need nor want your help."

"No doubt that's true," she agreed calmly. "However, I still want to help. I want to know more about Cruciatus and the damage it causes. The potion you gave me seems to be working so far, but I'd like to know how to make it for myself in case I need it again, and I want to know how bad it can potentially get."

"Your condition is unlikely to worsen."

"Unlikely does not mean impossible. I admit it probably won't happen, but I still want to know." _And I want to help you. _She wasn't stupid enough to say it aloud; even in her limited acquaintance with this man, she knew nothing would make him run faster.

"I can provide notes," he said stiffly. She rolled her eyes again.

"Oh, stop it, Severus. I'm not eleven years old any more; I'm not going to be there every time you turn around, waving my hand in the air. I know you like your privacy, and so do I. In addition, we will both have work to do. I'm just asking for a few hours a week in your laboratory helping you with potions. I promise not to break anything, get in the way or ruin the potion."

He seemed to be wavering, an impression emphasised when he shot back, "Do you promise not to annoy me?"

Smiling, she responded, "No, because when you're in a bad mood there is nothing I can do to avoid annoying you, except perhaps stop breathing. But surely you must admit I am far less annoying than I used to be."

Grudgingly he nodded. "And that is all you want?" he asked suspiciously.

She smiled at him. "Well... I _might _want to borrow a few more of your books..."

He snorted, suspicion giving way to mockery. "Fine. It seems you win again. I shall see how much free time I will have once term has begun."

* * *

Severus hadn't felt this far out of his depth in many years. This was exactly why he had resisted the thought of returning to the wizarding world for so long; situations exactly like this. Well, no, not like this, he admitted to himself as he sat on the steps of the darkened caravan, wrapped in the fierce thick heat of the summer night. He'd imagined dozens of different scenarios, from arrest and trial to a hero's welcome – not that the latter had ever been likely – but he wasn't even sure what this _was. _He had never really had any clear idea of who would find him, when he had concocted his vague plan of wandering around London until someone recognised him, but even had he predicted that it would be Granger who found him he couldn't have imagined this.

She didn't seem to want anything from him. That was the most confusing part. In almost fifty years, everyone he had ever met had wanted something from him – mostly his pain in some way. All Granger seemed to want was occasional conversation and some time in his laboratory when he got it in order. _And to borrow books, _he reminded himself wryly.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever wanted to just sit and talk to him. Even when Dumbledore had rooted him out of his beloved dungeon, the old man had always dominated the conversation and usually with a specific aim in mind. Even right back in the distant past when he and Lily had sat and talked, he had always hung back and let her decide the subject. The free and easy conversations he had witnessed between others had never been part of his experience.

Psychological texts had formed a large percentage of his reading material since the end of the war. He had known that his experiences would have damaged him, and he had known that nobody was going to be interested in helping him, so he had determined to try and deal with it himself – just as he always had. He had known intellectually just how lonely he had been during the years of self-imposed exile, and yet that hadn't prepared him for how quickly he came to rely on human contact.

It had got so bad, so quickly, that he found himself waiting expectantly for her every day and feeling curiously let down if she didn't arrive for a visit, despite the fact that there was no arrangement and no reason to expect her. He'd found himself struggling not to be angry when he did see her, fighting not to blame her for not showing up before.

_For God's sake, Severus, you told her yourself how unnatural it was for you to attach yourself to the first person to willingly talk to you. Now here you are doing the same thing again, making the same mistakes almost forty years later. You've learned nothing._

Coldly, he told himself that he knew this for what it was. Desperation. After so many years, after two wars and a period of exile, he positively ached for simple human comfort and wanted nothing more than to not be alone any more. That was no reason to expect it. Just because he needed something did not mean it would be provided. It would be fairly simple to take advantage of the gesture towards civility that Granger had shown him, to manipulate her into spending more time with him, but the idea held no appeal. Thus far, their interactions had been willing and genuine, as far as he could tell, and pathetic though it was he didn't want to lose that.

_They finally broke you, _he told himself. _You have no pride left any more. _He would take what crumbs she offered him, for as long as they were offered, because he wasn't sure he could afford not to. He had come so close to irreversible breakdown over the past years; he needed something to cling to. It was pathetic, degrading and pitiful, but that didn't make it untrue.

The best he could hope for was that the girl – woman, he supposed, grudgingly – would never realise just how badly he needed this.

Because if she did, she would have an unshakeable hold over him.

And he had promised himself when the Dark Lord fell that never again would he place himself at the mercy of another.

Then again, he had never made a promise that he hadn't broken.

_

* * *

I couldn't get that first meeting with Minerva to work, but they will interact more in later chapters. There won't be many scenes from Snape's point of view, either. Next chapter in a few days.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey, do you hear that? That's the sound of the plot thickening.  


* * *

_

**"****There is a curse. They say, 'May you live in interesting times'.****"**  
– Terry Pratchett.

* * *

The first staff meeting of the year took place a week before term began, giving the staff time to settle back into their routines and organise timetables and go through the thousand and one administrative tasks that were needed to keep any sort of institution running smoothly. Hermione hadn't been sure how her colleagues would react; in the end they had without exception ignored Snape completely, which seemed to suit him. He had chosen a chair in the staff room that was tucked away in a corner, where he wouldn't be part of things unless he wished it, and seemed happy to be ignored; given what could have happened, she supposed it was the better choice. She did spot him touching his left forearm once or twice, though. It was something of a shock to see the new Snape back in his black robes once more.

After the meeting, she tidied her possessions and allowed Crookshanks out of her rooms to wander off and reclaim his territory – like most cats at Hogwarts, her pet considered the entire castle to be his; unlike the other cats, however, the half-Kneazle was prepared to enforce this view. Once that was done, she headed down to the dungeons.

The air was thick with dust, and the door to the Potions classroom stood open. Peering in, she noted with open amusement that all Slughorn's modifications had been undone and it was now the classroom of her childhood once more; already even the air had changed subtly in both scent and atmosphere.

Snape's rooms were not laid out in the same manner as most staff quarters. The only way to reach his office was through the Potions classroom, and the only way to access his personal quarters was through his office. Hermione had absolutely no doubt that he had another exit, one he kept hidden, but to all intents and purposes there was only one way in or out. As a staff member she had access to his office, and as she entered she noticed that this room too had been restored to its previous state; gone were Slughorn's rather gaudy furnishings, replaced with the simple, dark and elegant furniture that she recalled, as well as his infamous collection of bottled _things _on the shelves behind the desk. Shaking her head wryly – _he hasn't wasted any time – _she approached the door that led to his personal quarters and knocked. After a moment she heard a click and opened the door.

"Shouldn't you have checked who was at the door before opening it?" she asked chidingly, fanning a hand in front of her face to try and dispel some of the dust in the air. Evidently these rooms too were being transformed. _Or purified._

"Nobody else would dream of coming down here," he replied absently, studying an extremely ugly bas-relief carving of a cherub that hung on the wall and scowling at it.

"Permanent Sticking Charm?" she asked sympathetically, moving to stand beside him and looking at the carving. Absently part of her mind noted that, this close, he wasn't as tall as she had thought, not quite six feet; evidently his ability to loom over people was a child's perspective coupled with the sheer force of his personality, although he was still considerably taller than she was.

"No, but something similar." He shook his head and grimaced faintly. "Slughorn never did have any taste."

"You're hardly known for your sense of interior design either," she pointed out mildly, earning a snort. Looking around, she frowned, realising that even here there was music playing – Led Zeppelin, unless she missed her guess, which you definitely couldn't hear over the wizarding wireless. The room where they currently stood was almost empty, the furniture having been dismantled and stacked against one wall; the exception was a small folding table in one corner, which held his laptop – the source of the music. "How have you managed to get a computer working?" she asked incredulously.

He smirked. "I _am _a wizard, after all."

"You have to teach me that."

"I don't, actually," he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "But if you wish. The charm is actually surprisingly simple." Returning his black-eyed stare to the carving on the wall, he said thoughtfully, "Do you suppose that if Slughorn wanted this, he would have removed it?"

"What? Oh. I suppose so. Why?"

By way of reply he raised his wand and, with a faint look of satisfaction on his face, smashed the carving with a well-aimed Reductor spell.

"You're enjoying this far too much," Hermione told him, fighting a smile. Wandering over to the laptop, she began curiously scrolling through the music library. "This is the weirdest mix of music I have ever seen," she informed him.

"What were you expecting, the Phantom of the Opera, or Transylvanian organ music straight from the soundtrack of a Hammer horror film?"

"Not quite. But there's just about everything here." Most of it seemed to be old rock of the kind her parents had listened to, but there was also a surprising amount of more modern pop and even some jazz and reggae, as well as a few classical pieces. "It's all Muggle music," she noted. Hardly surprising, really, since wizarding music hadn't progressed beyond gramophone records and couldn't really be computerised, but still, his answer surprised her.

"Yes. As I am sure you can appreciate, being Muggleborn, wizarding music leaves a great deal to be desired. It is my opinion that the wizarding world as a whole is largely incapable of producing any creative work of quality – be it music, art, poetry or prose."

"I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. Now that she considered it, he had a point. "That's a very enlightened attitude for a Slytherin."

"Half-blood, remember," he replied absently, making a complex movement with his wand that cleared the dust in the air and allowed him to see the empty room. "I have lived a largely Muggle lifestyle for most of my life." Apparently satisfied, he tapped the wall sharply with his wand, and the faint peach tinge she had noticed when she entered seeped away to leave the natural colour of the stone showing through. "You should get out of the way."

She retreated into his office and perched on his desk, watching interestedly as he set to work. Some of the original furniture apparently required only slight modifications to reach the desired standard; other pieces were fully transfigured. Once he was finished, the room had been completely transformed into a comfortable yet elegant living space; a sofa and an armchair sat to either side of the fireplace, a table and chairs occupied one end of the room, a long sideboard against one wall held his laptop and an antique liquor cabinet, and much of the remaining wall space was filled with bookshelves. As with his office, the furniture was dark and simple; the walls were unadorned stone, and the floor too had been left bare save for a sheepskin rug.

Padding across the room, she looked through the open door at the far end into a short corridor with three doors leading off it. "Where do these lead?" she asked curiously, noting that even the corridor would need redecorating – Horace had been far too fond of gilded furnishings.

Snape pointed to each door in turn. "The one on the left is the bathroom. I shudder to think of what Slughorn has done to it. At the far end is the bedroom, which will possibly be worse. And the one on the right leads to the laboratory, which will need completely reorganising."

"At least you won't be bored before term starts," she told him dryly. He snorted.

"Of all the possible fates awaiting me here, boredom was never likely to be high on the list." He turned back to critically regard the now-finished living room, and didn't look at her as he continued, "It will likely be several weeks before I can begin seriously working. When that date arrives, the password to my rooms is 'Janus'. I trust I do not have to ask you not to tell anyone else that."

"Janus," she repeated softly. "The Roman god with two faces." _How terribly appropriate. _And if she remembered rightly, his birthday was the Festival of Janus."Do I need your password?" she asked quizzically; it seemed out of character for him to freely give her access to his quarters.

"It is likely that I will be working when you arrive," he pointed out. "I would prefer not to have to stop and answer the door every time. I do not anticipate many visitors aside from you."

"Speaking of passwords..." she said awkwardly. "Do you want the password to Minerva's office? I don't understand why she wouldn't allow you to have it."

"Because she doesn't want me snooping through her things," he replied, sneering, "as if I have nothing better to do with my time. And because when I am summoned to her presence, it will make her feel superior if I have to wait to be let in, like a dog whining and scratching at the door. In any case, I do not need the password."

Hermione frowned at him. He seemed to be implying that he could access her office without it... "Why not?" she asked him, suspiciously.

He returned her look steadily with no noticeable expression on his face. "I do not imagine that I will be summoned to her office very often."

It occurred to her that the blank, emotionless look he was using now was the Snape equivalent of trying to look innocent, something he was spectacularly ill equipped to pull off convincingly. "That isn't what you meant. You can access Minerva's office without a password?"

"Yes," he admitted candidly.

"How?"

A faint glimmer of amusement shone in his black eyes. "Really, Professor Granger, you surely don't imagine I will tell you all my secrets? Besides, this particular one isn't really a secret; it is merely that nobody has realised it yet."

"And what's to stop me from telling Minerva this? She would be happy to believe the worst of you, after all."

He smirked, at his most infuriating. "Because if you do, you will never find out how I do it."

Exasperated, she glared at him. "You are a thoroughly maddening man."

"And you are far from the first to make that observation," he replied with a mocking smile.

"I'll bet," she grumbled, folding her arms. "You're not going to tell me?"

"You're supposed to be intelligent. Work it out for yourself. I assure you, it is not a secret."

In his own way, she supposed, Snape was paying her a compliment – albeit a twisted one. He was also deliberately trying to annoy her. How very Slytherin, to combine the two. Even so, her pride wouldn't allow her to back down; she accepted the challenge with a curt nod and flashing eyes that only increased the glimmer of amusement in his face.

_You're on. _It would take years if not more to work out all of this exasperating, complex man's secrets, but this was certainly a start.

* * *

The start-of-term feast was awkward. Hermione wasn't at all surprised when she arrived to find that Snape had taken a seat at the very end of the High Table, closest to the door, and was equally unsurprised to note that the only vacant seat was the one beside him. Nobody wanted to sit next to him; part of her couldn't help but think that it was somehow childish. Surely you grew out of ostracising people like that when you were still a child? Apparently not.

The announcement of Snape's return to teaching was greeted with deafening silence. Ordinarily, even with an unpopular appointment, the staff at least would applaud and glare the students into joining in; not this time. There was absolutely no reaction. Briefly Hermione wondered what would happen if she started applauding; she decided that nobody would join in, she would look like an idiot and Snape would think she was mocking him. Glancing sideways at him, she found him with a grim half-smile on his face that to her looked like self-loathing as he stared into his goblet.

When it became painfully obvious that nobody was going to react, Minerva cleared her throat uneasily and moved on to other news.

* * *

Severus took a breath and raised a hand to the door of the Slytherin tower; as Head of House, he didn't need the password. The common room was filled with students; none of them noticed his entrance at first, but gradually a ripple of silence spread outwards from the door until they were all staring at him silently. He scanned the crowd until he had picked out the two prefects. "Fetch any students from the dormitories. I wish to address you all."

When the entire House were gathered, he looked them over. Fewer than he recalled at any time since he had first taken the job back in the early eighties, and most of them with all-too-familiar shadows in their eyes. Well, this had never been an easy job, and at least he had missed the worst years – he'd spent them on another continent, wrestling with his own inner demons. He had been planning this speech for weeks; it was probably his only chance to reach the older students.

"This is the only time I will be addressing you as a House, unless some serious issue arises, so listen closely. I am aware that as a group, those in this room are almost universally hated. I am aware that now I am your Head of House, you will be hated even more. I am also aware that many of you – if not all of you – hate me.

"To be Slytherin is to be hated. That is the legacy Salazar Slytherin in his wisdom has left for us. He divided us, separated us from the others. We became different, and those who are different are despised. Hate me if you will, but I am the only staff member who will be on your side. Melodramatic as it sounds, I am your only hope; certainly most of you are already aware that nobody else cares.

"Unlike my predecessor, I do not care who your family are. Doubtless most of you are related to previous students of mine; I could not care less. Unlike most Slytherins, I do not care about the purity of your bloodlines. I myself am a half-blood. What I care about is what you do.

"I was in Slytherin; I have been Head of Slytherin for many years. I was most certainly neither the first nor the last student to choose the dark path. Those around us assume that we are Slytherins because we are dark; they do not realise that we are dark because we are Slytherins. The actions of others shape much of our lives. For every student from this house who joined the Death Eaters for glory and pureblood superiority, there were half a dozen who joined for a place to belong or because they felt it was expected of them, that they had no other choice.

"To be Slytherin is to be hated. To be _truly _Slytherin is to refuse to allow that to matter. There is a Muggle saying; 'Living well is the best revenge'. The best thing you can do to those who hate you is to prove them wrong. Make a success of your time here. Take the subjects you want, get the best results you can, and go on to flourish in your chosen career. Do not waste your time on attempts at revenge; they are meaningless and unlikely to succeed. Live your life as best you can despite all who try to make it otherwise.

"This House has always had more than its fair share of troubles. I would guess that at least a quarter of you are currently or have recently had problems with bullying; I am still reading through the records left by my predecessor. I will stop that. I assure you, I have no reluctance to confront other staff members in defence of my House. However, I will not tolerate bullies from Slytherin either; I know that there are students here who feud with others and occasionally do not act purely out of self defence in conflicts. That stops now. I will not allow my House to sink to the level of our enemies.

"There are no doubt internal conflicts as well. That must stop. Everyone outside this tower is if not openly hostile at least utterly disinterested in the fortunes of Slytherin. All you have is one another. It makes no sense to fight one another; you are doing their work for them.

"You are realists. Naïveté would not have ensured your Sorting into this house. I will not lie to you and sugar-coat the truth; we are hated. Those of you in the second year and above know what happens in any conflict between a Slytherin and another student; it is their word against yours, and you will always lose. I cannot change that. Remember that the Headmistress was a Gryffindor and she has no liking for me; I will defend you – unless I believe you to be at fault – but it may not make a difference.

"Learn to defend yourselves. Do not allow such conflicts to arise; all that will happen is that Slytherin will lose. There is a powerful pleasure in getting the drop on an enemy and striking first, but it is ultimately false. You will find that such actions hurt you more than the one you target. I do not speak of empty morals but more practical concerns; it will be you, not your opponent, who is punished, regardless of whose fault it was. Do not start fights. I do not expect you to submit meekly; we are Slytherins, not Hufflepuffs, but do not go looking for trouble – you will discover that it will find you without your encouragement. If you know you are disliked by your fellows, do not allow them to corner you. Do not go off alone.

"Prevention is better than cure. Don't give them the chance to harm you. Accept from the start that those around you will try to make life difficult, and devote yourself to not allowing their efforts to touch you. You will find that allowing your enemies to try to harm you and watching them fail is eminently more satisfying than actively seeking to prevent them and being punished. Slytherins are meant to be cunning; do so. And trust one another; two heads are better than one. An attack against one of us is an attack against all of us.

"Here endeth the lesson. On a more practical note, if any of you wish to discuss anything with me, you may approach me after a Potions lesson to arrange an appointment. Everything told to me will be kept completely confidential and where possible I will do all in my power to help with any problems. In the next week or two I wish to meet with the prefects and the Quidditch captain; I understand that we have finished in fourth place for both the House and Quidditch cups every year since the war ended. I do not intend to allow this to continue. We are Slytherin and we do not deserve last place; see to it that we do not get it. I will see you in class."

* * *

All in all, Severus was quite surprised at how easy his return had been so far. Suspicious, naturally, but even so, it had been remarkably painless. None of his fellow staff members seemed inclined to speak to him – at all – and whilst that would have been unpleasant for most people, he was more relieved than otherwise, since he had no wish to speak to them either. Granger was the exception, but there seemed no way of persuading her to leave him alone; nor, if he was honest, did he truly wish her to. The small amount of human contact she represented would keep him sane and functioning; it was enough.

The students quite clearly hated and feared him. He didn't much care about that, either. They always had; the only difference was that now they had a better reason than his deliberately unpleasant personality. In fact, that had changed; he had little reason to torment them. It didn't bring him the vague malicious satisfaction it had once, and his reputation was more than sufficient to keep the distance he required. He had also discovered that the problems facing Slytherin House were even worse than he had originally thought.

To that end, Severus was attempting to single-handedly reform the system. The first part of his plan had been put into effect last week; he had altered the seating plans in every class. Under the new system, no student could work with a member of their own House unless the numbers were unequal, nor could they work with the same student for more than one lesson. Students were forced to work with members of the other Houses, and he made sure to assign potions that required them to communicate with their partners. Any pair who ended up fighting were both given detention, even if one was in Slytherin – Granger's comments about favouring his own house had struck home. Unsurprisingly, the Gryffindor-Slytherin lessons were the worst, but none of the students were happy with this system. Ironically, that was working in Severus' favour; in several instances so far, he had observed that mutual loathing of him had given the reluctant partners some common ground.

This would take time to work, but eventually the students would stop focusing on ways to kill one another and start realising that members of the other Houses weren't aliens. If it showed signs of working, he intended to see that Granger learned of it; if she implemented the same system and it began to work, the other staff members would follow. Once the students had to interact in most of their lessons, they would be less hostile outside them.

_From small beginnings come... whatever the rest of the saying is, _he mused. His first priority was to start showing the rest of the school that his Slytherins weren't Death Eaters; if in the long term something genuine and positive came from it... well, frankly, he would be amazed, since usually everything he touched turned to dust, but it would be good to achieve something positive. He wanted to leave behind a better legacy this time around.

His own House didn't trust him an inch, but he had known it would take time for him to prove to them that he wasn't Slughorn and that he wasn't ashamed of them. Sooner or later there would be an incident; he would defend his students and hope that the shock of someone being on their side didn't kill any of them. As he had said before when Granger had raised this mad idea, if he was going to do this he might as well do it right this time.

As far as his more personal reasons for returning went, he had finally got the laboratory in order to his satisfaction and was forcing his body to accept a semi-regular sleeping pattern in preparation for the medical regime he would need. He knew what he was doing; it wouldn't need months of research, only a few weeks of preparing himself and his ingredients. He'd come out of hiding for the sake of a dozen ingredients and enough space to prepare them. _Typical. _Then again, exchanging the confines of his caravan for the confines of his dungeon wasn't a dramatic change; in many ways he was still in hiding.

* * *

Hermione padded noiselessly through the empty Potions classroom and into Snape's office. She had begun to think that he didn't intend keeping his promise to let her help him, when the brief note had arrived on her desk that morning. As ever with him, it was short and to the point: "_Tonight, 8pm._" Crossing the darkened office, she reached to touch the door behind his desk and murmured, "Janus." A brief glow appeared in the wood beneath her hand and the door swung silently open; she wondered what wards he used, since she hadn't seen that response before.

She walked through the living room, noting that his laptop was missing; listening for a moment, she wasn't surprised to hear faint music coming from behind the door. Shaking her head wryly, she moved into the corridor beyond – now devoid of Slughorn's modifications – and hesitated, staring between the three doors, suddenly fighting the desire to snoop around. The impulse didn't last long; for a man like Snape, his laboratory would be more personal than his bedroom, a theory supported by his caravan, and would probably tell her more about him. Smiling to herself, she opened the door on the right and found a staircase leading down.

When she opened the final door and saw his laboratory for the first time, it was everything she could have hoped for. It was huge, for a start, a great cavern of a room in paler stone than the rest of the castle, to ensure that even this far below ground it could be well lit. The far end was both cold and dark, presumably for storage or possibly merely for atmosphere, but this end of the room was warm and brightly illuminated. The room itself was a curious blend of Muggle and wizard; it was lit by a pretty good facsimile of fluorescent strip lighting and the sinks were stainless steel backed by white tile, but the benches were of solid stone or heavy carved wood and all the other equipment – such as the cauldrons – was definitely of wizard origin. Some of the instruments along one bench could be modern Muggle scientific equipment or possibly ancient Dark detectors, she wasn't sure. The whole thing was slightly surreal, an effect heightened by the fact that his laptop – on its own bench near her – was currently playing Guns N Roses.

Snape himself stood in a clear area of floor, smirking at her with his arms folded across his chest. "Well?"

"What did Horace's lab look like?" she asked, still looking around in fascination. "I can't imagine it was anything like this."

"Of course not. Truthfully, it reminded me almost exactly of Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory in some ghastly B-movie. Far too unnecessarily theatrical – especially since I very much doubt he ever bothered to use it."

"Flickering torches in sooty wall sconces, cobwebs on the ceiling and suspicious skittering noises in the shadows?" she guessed, fighting back a smile, and he nodded, his lip curling.

"Exactly."

Walking over to him, she pulled a stool out from beneath a bench and perched, lazily hooking a foot through the rungs. "So what are we going to be doing, now we've finally started?"

"Do not attempt to rebuke me in my own laboratory," he told her, although his tone was one of sarcasm rather than annoyance – at times in the past, she had wondered whether those were the only two emotions he possessed. "I have been busy, and it has taken some time to grow accustomed to a regular routine once more." Drawing out his own stool, he sat opposite her, one foot likewise hooked through the rungs and his right foot resting on the floor, keeping his bad leg straight. "First, you need to understand the background. Do you know much about Muggle medicine and biology?"

"I know enough to know that you'll need to be more specific."

"Autoimmune diseases," he elaborated.

"The body essentially turns on itself. It can affect different areas, and there are lots of different types, but they all work on the same principle – the body's defence system stops being able to recognise 'self' and attacks its own organs."

"Yes. I have been monitoring my symptoms for many years – in truth, since the first war, when I was younger than you are now. I believe that, through whatever twisted chance, the after effects of all the spells and curses I have endured have somehow succeeded in creating a version of one of the best known autoimmune diseases – multiple sclerosis."

"You have MS?" she choked, utterly stunned.

"Not precisely, since it was caused by spell damage – although the true causes of MS are not really known, so perhaps that is irrelevant. And MS isn't fatal. In any case, call it what you will, the condition I suffer from bears a very great similarity to multiple sclerosis, so that is what I will be basing my work on. The Cruciatus curse has evidently slowly destroyed or at least weakened the myelin coating my nerves, in much the same way as MS affects it."

"There's no cure for MS," she said flatly.

"Not for Muggles, no," he replied. "Possibly not for wizards, either, but what I have is not a disease. Repair the damage from the original curses, and I will – theoretically – be cured. Or as close to it as I can get."

"But..."

"Snap out of it, Granger," he growled. "I didn't agree to let you help so you could whine at me. I do not have MS; I am merely using it as a benchmark since the symptoms are so very similar. If it makes you feel better, think of it as something else."

"I don't know much about multiple sclerosis," she said in a low voice, feeling uncomfortably like a scared eleven-year-old again. Despite their current acquaintance, Snape could still intimidate her all too easily, especially in a Potions laboratory.

"Then that should be your first step, if you are still determined to _help._"

"In that case, you'll need to teach me how to make electrical objects work in Hogwarts," she countered. "Then I can use my own computer – unless you'd rather I stayed here and used yours for several days?"

"Perish the thought," he drawled. "Fine."

A truly horrible thought occurred to her, and she felt the colour draining from her face. "Is this – is it what happened to me? Do I have..." She couldn't make herself say it.

"No," he replied instantly, something nameless flickering through his eyes that might have been an attempt at reassurance. "No, your own symptoms are nothing more than the usual after-effects of the Cruciatus; what little damage you suffered is nothing like as severe. Unless you intend to be exposed to both that and other dark spells extremely frequently for the next few years, that is all they will ever be. And the work we will be doing here will produce a way to heal you. That much I can guarantee."

Relief threatened to overwhelm her, before it was swiftly overtaken by guilt. She looked up at him miserably, and he scowled. "Don't say it."

"Say what?" she asked weakly.

"You were about to apologise again."

"I wasn't," she said defensively, and he snorted.

"Yes, you were. As I said, you are still very much a Gryffindor. Don't apologise – if you must feel guilty in some way, do so quietly. You will be no help whatsoever if you insist on turning this into a tragedy. Now, pull yourself together. The charm to enable electrical equipment to function."

Hastily and surreptitiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve – an action that earned her a roll of his eyes, although mercifully he didn't comment – Hermione nodded and drew her wand from her sleeve, forcing herself to pay attention rather than dwell on what she had learned. "All right."

He drew his own wand from his belt and Summoned his laptop to use as a demonstration; a flick of his wand cut Don McLean off mid-note and the screen went dark. "Watch," he said softly, tapping the laptop's casing three times. "_Vox illustro._"

The machine came back on and the music began to play once more. "_Vox illustro_," she repeated softly, struggling with the Latin. "Voice of illumination?"

"More or less; or, very roughly translated, 'cry to light up.' Crude, but sufficient."

"It's your own spell, isn't it?" she guessed.

"Yes."

He really was a brilliant man, she mused privately, even if he was utterly infuriating at times. "Thank you. I'll read about MS as soon as possible. Without turning it into a tragedy," she added sourly; personally she rather thought it _was _a tragedy, but evidently he didn't feel the same. "Will this charm work for all electrical equipment?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"A mobile phone," she confessed. Owls took too long, and speaking through a fire was still slightly disturbing. Many of her friends had phones, even some of the pure-bloods; it would be so much easier to talk if she could call them or they her.

"I doubt it. The phone itself will work, but we are in a very remote area of the Scottish Highlands – you won't get a signal."

"But you get Internet access?"

"Infrequently, and poorly."

"Damn. Oh well, it was a thought."

Snape was smirking, clearly amused. Trying to glare at him only made it worse. He asked silkily, "Have you made progress on the matter we discussed?"

"Not really," she admitted grudgingly, more annoyed than ever. "I assume it's not because the password is the same as it was when you were Headmaster?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think it was, after all these years? Surely it has changed several times since you started teaching here."

"Yes, but I thought it worth asking anyway; I've seen more unlikely coincidences happen." _And I miss you making me feel like seven kinds of idiot so much._

"Interestingly, as foolish as the idea itself is, you're on the right lines," he told her. "Think about it."

"All right," she muttered, standing and pocketing her wand; time to go and do some research. As she reached the door, she paused with her hand on the knob and looked back at him, amused by a sudden thought. "You know, Severus – when I thought of you returning to Hogwarts, I didn't expect that you would still be setting me homework."

She was rewarded by startling him into laughter, that warm rusty laugh she had only heard once before following her up the stairs as she left.

_

* * *

Okay, it's no 'bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses', but speech writing is hard. I'm interested to see if anyone guesses what Snape's secret is before Hermione does...  
_


	8. Chapter 8

_Okay, I'm nowhere near as clever as I think I am, clearly. Almost everyone guessed it. You should all feel very proud, because I now feel a bit silly for hyping it up so dramatically.  


* * *

_

**"****There is an alchemy in sorrow. It can be transmuted into wisdom, which, if it does not bring joy, can yet bring happiness****.****"**  
– Pearl S Buck.

* * *

As the weeks passed, she grew no closer to understanding him. He continued to shun all company, avoiding meals and the staff room; she spoke briefly with the house elves and learned that they delivered raw ingredients to his rooms and he did his own cooking. She was certain that apart from his students, she was the only person he spoke to. Even with her, he was unfailingly sarcastic and cool as he had always been; any question that he didn't want to answer was either ignored completely or drew only an insult in reply. She had never for a moment imagined that he would suddenly open up and become warm and friendly – frankly, if that had happened it would have been more terrifying than facing Voldemort, and would have indicated chronic brain damage – but given the circumstances she had thought he might have changed a _little._

And yet, despite his invariably cold and disdainful attitude, every so often there were startling glimpses of something else. A week after their first conversation in the lab, she found a note on her bed that said, cryptically, "_I believe I have something of yours._" Her curiosity piqued, she went to his rooms after dinner and found him lying on the sofa in his living room, reading, with a purring Crookshanks curled up on his lap. Unable to even speak, she stood in the doorway staring as Snape's long fingers absently stroked through the ginger fur behind her pet's ears.

"How did he get in?" she managed finally.

His black eyes gleamed with amusement behind his glasses. "I have no idea. In my experience, however, it is almost impossible to stop a cat from going somewhere it particularly wishes to go."

"I'm sorry if he disturbed you."

"He didn't. I like cats," he said absently, to her surprise. Not sure of how to respond, she watched him remove his glasses and lay them on top of his book on the small table near his elbow. Of all the possible ways to get inside his head, she hadn't thought of animals.

"Did you ever have a pet?" she asked softly. He shook his head, apparently quietly absorbed in the flicker of the firelight over Crookshanks' fur.

"No. When I was young, my father would not have tolerated an animal, even just for the holidays, and doubtless one of my year-mates would have taken exception to any animal belonging to me. When I was teaching... I never really thought about it, to be honest. The dungeons aren't really ideal for an animal, anyway; your cat is the first to have voluntarily ventured down this far."

"Crooks sees the whole of Hogwarts as his territory. Apparently that includes you," she replied, wanting to keep him talking. He snorted softly; it might have been a trick of the light, but Hermione thought she saw him smiling a little. _I owe you a treat, furball. You're not a cat, you're a miracle worker. _"You should be flattered. He doesn't like most people." She had never fully puzzled out Crookshanks' criteria for his discerning friendship, but evidently he considered Snape worth the effort.

"Splendid; nor do I. We'll get on famously," he replied sarcastically, and she bit her lip to stop herself laughing.

"How did you get into my room to leave the note?" she asked, more curious than worried. "Is it the same way you access Minerva's office?"

"Yes."

"Can anyone else do it?"

"Yes."

She thought for a moment. "Can just anybody do it?"

"No."

"Could I do it?"

"Not yet."

"You're not going to give me even a tiny hint, are you?" she asked, frustrated by the monosyllabic answers, and he half-smiled in response and shook his head.

"No. You already know everything you need to know in order to work it out."

"Come on, Crooks," she told the cat, who opened one eye and looked at her drowsily before reluctantly uncurling. To her amusement, he braced his forepaws against Snape's chest and looked the man in the face, purring, before turning and leaping down, padding over to his mistress. She picked him up, smiling a little, and watched Snape brushing ginger hair off his trousers – he seldom wore his robes in his rooms, she had discovered. "Sorry about the fur."

"The only way to avoid cat hair when you own a cat is to get one of those ghastly hairless Sphinx things, and I hardly think they count as real cats," he answered mildly.

"True. I've never really been sure what Crookshanks is – I _think _he's half red Persian, half Kneazle, but that might be wrong."

"Since he seems in remarkably good health considering his age, and since he was clever enough to find a way through my wards, it seems unlikely that he is just a cat," he agreed. That was a good point; she had owned her familiar – or he had owned her, as it sometimes seemed – for fourteen years now and he'd been around three or four years old at least when she had bought him. Abruptly the absurdity of the situation hit her; she was discussing breeds of cat with Severus Snape, of all people.

"This is the sort of conversation I would have expected to have with Minerva, rather than you."

He looked up, another hint of what might almost have been a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Actually, McGonagall doesn't like cats much. I believe she is mildly allergic. You can tell when she has transformed recently; she sounds like she has a bad cold."

Hermione bit back a giggle. "Then why is that her Animagus form?"

"Latent masochism would be my best guess," he observed dryly. "Although I suppose it is more likely that she did not know she was allergic until after she had learned to change form. You would have to ask her." His eyes glittered with amusement. "If you do, please ensure you warn me in advance so I can get a good view."

"That would involve you leaving your dungeon and associating with us lesser mortals," she pointed out. "Are you sure it would be worth the effort?"

"To annoy Minerva McGonagall? Absolutely."

"And on that note, I shall take my cat and leave you to your book," she decided, "before I lose all respect for my Headmistress. Good night, Severus."

"Good night."

As she left, she looked down at her purring cat. "I don't know how you managed it, Crooks, but I do believe you actually made Snape smile. For that, you deserve a treat; let's go via the kitchens and find you some fish." Walking through the corridors, she paused and stared down at her pet as a sudden thought occurred to her. "If you got into his rooms by yourself, you could have got out again very easily. So why did he bother telling me you were there, if you weren't bothering him? Did the world's greatest misanthrope actually want company?" she asked.

Crookshanks blinked enigmatically at her.

* * *

That conversation had been a huge surprise, one that reinforced her determination to get to know the _real _Snape. In particular, she wanted to see that hint of a smile again – she'd never seen anything other than impassiveness, a smirk or a sneer on his face, save for moments of rage (and, once, agony, as he lay dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, but she tried not to think about that) and she wanted to see what a real smile would do to his face.

Her twenty-ninth birthday fell on a Saturday near the end of September. She was in the staff room early that morning, laughing with those of her colleagues who were awake as she opened her gifts; it was a surprise when Snape walked in, since he rarely set foot in the place. He looked tired and irritable, as he so frequently did, and moved straight for the coffee kept percolating in the corner. "What brings you here, Severus?" she called across to him.

"Ran out of coffee," he muttered, focusing on what he was doing. Apparently he wasn't a morning person. Pouring himself a cup – he always took it strong and black, with either no sugar at all or what Hermione considered to be far too much, depending on his mood – he turned and was most of the way out of the door when he seemed to notice what was going on. "It's your birthday?" he asked in a neutral tone of voice.

"Yes."

To her disappointment, if not exactly her surprise, he said nothing else and simply swept out of the room. Exchanging glances with her fellow staff members, she rolled her eyes, shaking her head. _Would 'happy birthday' have killed him? _Just when she thought he was starting to soften a little, he'd do something like this, and leave her wondering if there really was anything more to him than the bitter shell he allowed the world to see.

Hermione felt very guilty for those thoughts later, when she returned to her rooms after lunch and found a breathtaking arrangement of paper flowers in her living room - three red and white roses, each one folded with exquisite precision. There was no card, no note, but she didn't know anyone else who liked origami or who could get into her rooms. When she thanked him that afternoon, he looked her straight in the eye and said impatiently that he had no idea what she was talking about; if nothing else, the experience taught her that there was never any sign to show when Snape was lying, and that it was unwise to believe for a moment that she understood anything at all about him.

* * *

She had little further contact with him until the end of October. His quest to cure himself was still in its research stages; she knew he visited the library occasionally and checked out books on human health, healing and Dark magic, and she tried to direct her own reading to those volumes he didn't seem to have already read. Once he started actually brewing, she would no doubt see him more often, but for the moment he didn't seem to particularly want company. Minerva had – reluctantly – insisted that he rejoin his fellow staff members in the staff room occasionally; evidently the Headmistress realised that the division between Snape and everyone else wasn't a good thing. He had obeyed with equal reluctance and spent an hour or two most evenings in his usual corner, grading essays or reading the newspaper and utterly ignoring everyone, but Hermione was certain that he was aware of everything being said around him and that half the reason for his obedience was the chance to keep abreast of current developments.

He still refused to attend meals, but the major feasts were compulsory for all staff members, and so it was that Hermione found herself sitting next to him at Halloween. Even for Snape, he seemed in a dark mood, pushing his food around on the plate with no appetite and staring into space, and the shadows in his eyes were more pronounced than ever.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly. He didn't answer, didn't even seem to have heard her, and that was a bad sign – Snape was always aware of his surroundings. Such distraction was extremely out of character. "Severus?"

"What?" he snapped irritably.

"Are you all right?" He glared at her before transferring his gaze back to that point in the middle distance that seemed to fascinate him, not bothering to answer. In this mood, even if she could push him to respond it would likely only be to snarl something unpleasant, but she was worried about him. "Did you have another attack?" she asked very quietly, after making sure that nobody else was listening.

That earned her a somewhat surprised look, as if it hadn't occurred to him that that might be what was worrying her. "No," he replied unexpectedly. Hermione thought furiously, trying to think of what else might be troubling him.

"Then what?"

"Can't you mind your own business for once?" he snapped, hunching his shoulders and turning away. Glaring at him, she returned her attention to her food; let him sulk if that was what he wanted. After a moment she heard him sigh and glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing the tension in him as he muttered, "If you must know, I haven't been sleeping well."

"I thought you never did," she remarked dryly; he was an extreme insomniac. As the only member of the Trio still at Hogwarts, Hermione now possessed the Marauder's Map; it seemed that no matter what time she idly checked it in her waking moments, the little dot labelled Severus Snape was always to be found moving around in his office, his lab or his living room, very seldom in his bedroom.

He glared at her; unlike most of his infamous glares, the reason for this one was easy to read, a clear _See if I ever bother telling you anything again, _and she felt slightly ashamed of herself. "Any particular reason?" she asked gently, trying to convey an apology without actually apologising, since he seemed to dislike it so much.

"I don't like this time of year," he replied shortly. From the set of his shoulders as he turned away, Hermione saw that the conversation was over; he had answered her question and evidently considered that to be the end of the story. Thoughtfully turning back to her meal, she contemplated what he had said; was it autumn that he disliked, or October, or Halloween in particular?

It wasn't until later that night when she was getting ready for bed that the answer hit her abruptly, and she cursed herself for not realising it earlier. _Of course!_ Halloween 1981 had been almost the worst night of Snape's life. Not only had he lost the only person he had ever cared for, but it was because of him. Sitting on her bed, she thought about it some more; there were other factors in the story. As with everything concerning Snape, it wasn't as simple and straightforward as it seemed at first glance.

Lily's death was obviously the worst part, but James' death would have affected him, no matter that he had hated the other wizard; he had owed his life to James, and had failed to repay that debt. And Voldemort had fallen. Although Snape had changed sides by then, he probably still felt a lingering loyalty to his first master. Also, she realised slowly, the deaths of the Potters marked a broken promise – Dumbledore had promised to protect Lily and her family in exchange for Snape's service, and had failed to do so, no doubt just one of dozens of instances when someone had broken their word to him.

"It's no wonder he can't sleep," she murmured to Crookshanks, who was sitting and looking at her intently. Abruptly an idea occurred to her, and she looked at her pet. "Crooks, would you go and see him? Severus? I'm certain he could use a friend right now, and one who can't talk would be perfect – he won't want human company, even though he probably needs it. Please?"

The cat looked at her for a long moment, then stood and came to rub his squashed face against hers, purring reassuringly, before jumping off the bed and heading out of the door with a flick of his tail. They used animals in Muggle therapy all the time, Hermione reasoned as she lay back, particularly in cases of depression and psychiatric disorders. Besides, listening to Crookshanks purring and feeling his warmth on her legs always made her feel better after bad dreams or when she couldn't sleep. What Snape needed right now was company that wouldn't judge him, that just wanted to make him feel better, and since he would never believe such innocent motives of her, Crookshanks would be the next best thing. He would be far more likely to trust an animal.

_It's a start, _she told herself. She was trying not to pity him, but it was extremely difficult sometimes.

* * *

This latest idea seemed to be working much better than her previous efforts. It was hard to tell whether he was sleeping better because of Crookshanks or because Halloween was now past, but he seemed a little less stressed, and she found herself trying not to smile every time she noticed ginger hair on his robes. Her cat now spent several nights a week away from her room; she missed him, but if he was spending those nights down in the dungeons, Snape needed him more than she did.

When Snape himself raised the subject in the staff room, somewhat awkwardly asking whether her cat should be spending so much time away from her, she smiled vaguely and looked him in the eyes and replied that, in his own words, it was very difficult to prevent a cat from going anywhere it particularly wanted to go; it was a very Slytherin answer, and one she was proud of. If he suspected that it had been her doing, he didn't say so.

Halloween marked the start of a difficult time for Hermione, as well. Now it was mid-November, and the anniversary of the day her parents had severed all ties with her for good was just days away – a month or two after the war had ended, she had gone to them and restored their memories and tried to explain herself. They had been horrified by what she had done to them and by the knowledge that she could do the same again, or worse, without their knowledge or agreement; the next couple of months had been increasingly strained, before it had all fallen apart for good at the end of November that year.

During the day she could focus on her lessons, on her continuing research into neurology and autoimmune diseases, on her administrative duties as a staff member, on her reading; but at night there seemed nothing she could do to shut her mind down and close off from the painful thoughts and memories that plagued her. Following Snape's example, she tried music; it worked a little, and it certainly helped to not have the silence pressing in on her, but it didn't stop the insomnia or the nightmares.

After one particularly horrendous dream, when she woke up literally screaming, Hermione admitted defeat. Snape had once promised to make her some Dreamless Sleep if she wanted it, and right now she did. Sitting up, shivering, she absently stroked the fur of her worried cat and looked at the clock. Half past two in the morning. She needed to get some sleep, or she would be passing out during classes tomorrow. Fumbling under her pillow, she found the Marauders' Map, and murmured, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," before scanning the parchment for a particular figure.

She wasn't remotely surprised to find that Snape wasn't in bed, despite the extreme earliness of the hour, but he wasn't in his rooms at all. It took almost ten minutes of searching the map before she found him atop the Astronomy Tower, walking in slow circles around the railing. Well, it seemed there wouldn't be any potion tonight – it would take time to brew it anyway, really. Still, she could at least ask him; he would have it for her tomorrow, unless he was in one of his tempers. And truthfully, she didn't want to lie here any more; talking to someone, even if he was in a nasty mood, might help. At least a fight would distract her. Muttering, "Mischief managed," she stood and grabbed her robe.

By the time she emerged into the cold night air at the top of the tower, he had stopped walking in circles and was standing by the rail, gazing out over the grounds. As always, he didn't seem remotely surprised to see her, merely glancing up and inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement before returning to his contemplation of the autumn night. Walking over, she stood beside him and looked out onto the grounds; it was a clear night, the sky filled with stars, and the moon was half full. Neither of them said anything, in that curious atmosphere that develops in the small hours of the morning when two insomniacs meet.

Truthfully, she was a little surprised at his choice of location. She had known for many years that he frequently wandered the halls at night, but this was the very spot where he had killed Albus, the spot where he had willingly laid himself open to blanket condemnation and hatred and effectively damned himself. It seemed a strange place to want to stand and reflect, but she had only really known him outside of the pupil-teacher relationship for a few months; certainly not long enough to get a grip on how he thought.

"I couldn't sleep," she said finally, softly.

"Really, Professor Granger?" Despite the sarcasm of his words, his tone was neutral, quiet. "I couldn't tell."

"Don't, Severus, please. I usually enjoy fighting with you, but I can't face it tonight."

"Then I shall endeavour to restrain myself." From anyone else, that might have been teasing, but his eyes and voice were serious. He was looking at her in the thoughtful way she hated, the look that meant he saw far more than she wanted him to see.

"In the summer, you offered to brew Dreamless Sleep for me, if I ever wanted it," she said softly, not looking at him. "I would like that, if the offer still stands."

"It will be on your desk tomorrow night." A little of the tension left her; she had thought he would refuse, or at least play games before agreeing. She couldn't face another night of horror.

"Thank you," she said even more softly, her throat tightening.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered equally softly.

"I don't imagine for one moment that you would be interested."

He stiffened slightly beside her, his eyes growing angry; lost in the empty grounds below them, she didn't notice, fighting the tears threatening at the back of her eyes. As he glared at her, his eyes lost that hard edge of anger and turned thoughtful once more before resuming their usual neutral expression; he appeared to be thinking hard.

"I found some old issues of the _Prophet _from around this season, in the autumn following the war," he said finally, with just the faintest hint of a question in his voice.

She nodded stiffly. "Yes, Severus, you were right as usual. Well done."

"I'm not trying to pry, Hermione." His use of her first name startled her, helping push back the threat of tears as she turned to face him. His eyes were as unreadable as ever, the only discernable emotion in their black depths being a hint of the deadened, lifeless look she remembered from years ago.

He continued speaking softly, his voice gravelly and rough. "Despite popular opinion, I am human. I am also very familiar with pain, grief, sorrow, anger... and guilt."

His understanding hurt more than his sarcasm would have done, and she turned away from him, biting her lip and swallowing. She hated feeling emotional and vulnerable – _human, _a little voice whispered – and if she was going to break down in front of anyone, Severus Snape wouldn't have been in her top one hundred. There was movement out of the corner of her eye; she glanced up and found him holding out his robe to her.

"It is cold up here," he said quietly, almost awkwardly. "You may not have noticed, but your body will be feeling it."

He was right. Reluctantly, she reached out and took the black cloth from his hand, wrapping the garment around her shoulders and only realising when it stopped that she had been shivering. The familiar smells of the Potions classroom clung to the fabric, woodsmoke and herbs and chemicals and preserving agents; she could identify all but one that eluded her. Huddling deeper into the still-warm wool, she concentrated on it, something earthy and herbal, and eventually identified it as rosemary. She hadn't thought of rosemary as a particularly masculine scent before. _Rosemary for remembrance..._

Beside her, he cleared his throat, shifting slightly and obviously ill at ease, before speaking in the same rough and gravelly voice. "I am going to tell you one of the hardest lessons that I have ever had to learn, Hermione. Not everything need be a battle, and you _cannot_ fight everything and hope to win. Sometimes it is necessary to admit that you are... only human."

Something about those words, coming from _this _man of all people, hit her like a blow. That, combined with the realisation that he certainly spoke from tragic, bitter experience, finally sent her over the edge, and she started crying almost silently.

When her tears finally slowed, she realised that her face was buried against his chest, her hands tangled in his shirt. Where his robe smelled of his work, this close she could smell _him _– a strange, complex scent that reminded her of nothing so much as rain, the distinctive smell of the air after a storm, touched with a faint hint of smoke and something herbal, rosemary and peppermint and thyme. Had she ever imagined that this would happen, she would have predicted that he would have run, possibly literally, or hexed her, but in fact his arms were around her and holding her close as he awkwardly attempted to hug her – his whole body was tense and he was quite clearly extremely uncomfortable, but he was making an effort to be comforting. It struck Hermione that he very probably had no experience of this sort of comfort and had no idea what he was doing, but she appreciated the effort, and although everything about him screamed that he wanted to be a long way away, just the warmth of his body was soothing.

Taking pity on him, she drew away carefully; as soon as she moved, he dropped his arms and stepped back, avoiding her eyes. Finding her handkerchief, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose before wrapping his robe more tightly around herself and rejoining him at the rail.

Wiping her eyes again, she stood in silence for a while. "How did you know?" she asked finally. Hermione herself wasn't entirely sure what she was asking, but as always he seemed to understand; even so, it was a while before he answered. He kept his eyes resolutely on the horizon, and his knuckles had turned white where he gripped the rail.

"As I said, I am familiar with pain. I... I also know what it feels like, to – to be drowning in it, until you are desperate to turn to someone, _anyone, _and – just let go, because it is that or suffocate."

_He does understand. _In a moment of understanding of her own, Hermione turned to look up at him. "But nobody ever did that for you, did they?" she asked very softly. "You could never... let go."

A muscle twitched under one eye, and she could tell that he was using every scrap of iron self control to keep his face utterly devoid of expression. His eyes looked dead, lifeless and lost. "Good night, Hermione," he said finally, turning away and passing hurriedly through the doorway and down the stairs. She knew better than to follow him; he had unbent as much as he could tonight, and if she pushed any harder he would snap.

She drew the warmth of his robe more tightly around her, her heart aching for him in that moment. He hadn't answered her; he hadn't needed to. So many years of pain and grief, and nobody to turn to, no-one to offer simple human comfort; he must have been so terribly alone. She remembered how stiff and uncomfortable his body had been as he tried to hold her and wondered when he had last even been touched; he had never liked human contact as far as she had seen, but that was possibly because it was unfamiliar. In some ways he reminded her of a stray animal, filled with fear and distrust, desperate to reach out to someone and yet too frightened to do so, flinching away from the simplest gesture. She couldn't even begin to imagine how lonely he must be; she suspected that it had gone on so long that even he didn't know how badly he was hurting.

And yet, despite that, he had tried to help her when she needed it. He had tried to offer comfort when he had no idea how to do so. There was nothing to be gained from it, not when she was already in his debt for the Dreamless Sleep potion. It had been utterly out of character, and yet he was the only one who could have fully understood how it felt to push all that pain and grief and guilt down until you couldn't bear it any more. Her friends... they were 'typical Gryffindors', as Severus would have said, passionate and blazing, and their emotions raged out of them at those around them; Hermione wasn't normally like that. She usually kept everything inside, in much the same way as Severus did.

Slowly, she began the long walk back to her rooms, lost in thought and remembering the lingering smell of rain.

* * *

In the cold light of day, she revised her opinion a little. No doubt he was hurt, deeply, almost mortally, but that didn't mean he would respond to any attempt at help. He was forty-eight years old; almost half a century of keeping to himself had left its mark. This wasn't a story, she wasn't going to magically – _hah _– find the solution to all his problems and help him heal. He was too broken for that. His wounds went too deep to heal; the best he could hope for, the best that she could achieve, was to give him something else that would allow him to forget them as much as possible, something to dull the pain a little, so that he could live with them. That didn't seem like much, but it was more than anyone else had given him; if she could manage it, it might be enough to repay him, a little.

_Typical Gryffindor, _she told herself with a small smile as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, _trying to take responsibility for the world's problems. It's not my job to heal him. _She still wanted to, though; partly because he deserved better, partly because the wizarding world owed him, partly because he was a fellow human being, but also partly for his own sake. Over the past few months she had caught brief glimpses of the man beneath the scar tissue that enclosed him; she had a feeling that it might be someone she would like to get to know.

There was no innocent, loving individual buried deep to be coaxed to the surface, she knew that. If there had ever been anything like that inside him, it had died years ago. He was who he was – damaged, bitter, mistrustful, alone, angry and hurt. If she couldn't accept that, she needed to walk away right now, because if she persisted in trying to change him they would both suffer for it. There were tiny glimpses of something better in him; if she could reach those, they might balance the darkness that everyone saw in him and help him find some sort of stability. To try anything else would be wrong, somehow. For better or for worse, that darkness was part of him, and she didn't have either the power or the right to change that.

The sheer scope of what she was planning left her dizzy. Of all the possible victims of the war that she could have decided to try and help, she just _had _to fixate on the most damaged of them all. Then again, she had been set on this path the moment she walked into him in Waterloo Station, whether that had been coincidence or something else entirely. Still, the fact remained that Hermione felt out of her depth. She needed to talk to someone who could offer a different perspective, but who?

Albus' portrait was the obvious choice, but Hermione rejected the idea the moment it entered her head. Severus had loyally served Dumbledore for more than twenty years, but she would eat Crookshanks if he had ever actually liked his master, and she was certain that Dumbledore had never entirely understood his spy, only how to control him. Hermione still thought of her Headmaster with affection and respect, but at the same time those emotions were far less than they had been. Necessary or not, she could not like what he had done to all of them. It _had_ been necessary, but the way he pretended that it wasn't happening turned her stomach. She would have thought much more of him if he had honestly admitted what he was doing to them.

No, Albus would not have any insight into what made the Potions master tick. At best he could probably tell her how to provoke certain reactions, and she could work that much out for herself. Severus' old colleagues were equally bad choices; he had never liked any of them and they had never liked him. They would have nothing to offer either.

Maybe what she needed wasn't new knowledge but a different way of looking at what she already knew. Not one of Severus' friends – he didn't have any – but maybe one of hers could help her organise her muddled thoughts. But who? _Not _Ron; he still wasn't speaking to her, but she suspected that was because he'd forgotten. Christmas would bring a card and a present as though nothing had happened. Harry? No. He had too much history with Severus, too much bitterness. He no longer hated the Potions master, but he would certainly not understand wanting to help his old foe. Besides, a male perspective wasn't what she wanted here.

Ginny? Too close to Harry... and in any case, Hermione suspected her red-haired friend wouldn't understand either. She didn't want to spend weeks trying to explain what it was she was trying to achieve, not when she didn't really know herself. Abruptly the answer came to her; smiling, Hermione settled at her desk and began to write a letter.

_Dear Luna_

_It's been a while since we spoke, not since you offered to give Severus an interview back in the summer. Sorry about that. I've just been caught up in getting back into the routine. Actually, I wanted to get your opinion of something; I know I've said it before, but you always seem to have a different perspective, and I think I could use that right now... Are you free this weekend? I'd love a chance to talk...

* * *

_"Hello Hermione! I was going to write anyway. I know this time of year is bad."

"Yes, it is," Hermione agreed, oddly relieved to talk about it in this way. Luna's curious blend of dreaminess and rock-solid common sense was strangely relaxing. "It's getting easier now the anniversary's passed, though."

"Good. It hurts less every year, doesn't it?" Her friend's vague eyes were sharp now. "Did anyone else remember?"

"No," she admitted sadly, "but I didn't expect them to."

"Being alone doesn't help, you know."

"I wasn't alone. Someone at Hogwarts worked it out. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about..." Taking a deep breath, Hermione launched into the story of what had occurred atop the Astronomy Tower. It took a very long time; throughout, Luna said nothing, just sat with her chin in her hand and stared at nothing in particular, listening without comment.

"Well," she said matter-of-factly when Hermione was done, "I can see why you didn't go to any of the others."

"No," she agreed wryly. "I thought – hoped – you wouldn't react the way they would. I don't want to try and justify wanting to help someone."

"You don't need to," Luna replied cheerfully. "I've never seen Professor Snape the way the rest of you did, anyway. I suppose it's because I'm not a Gryffindor; he never hated the Ravenclaws. I got to see a more neutral version. And I've never believed in what someone shows on the surface; nobody's simple."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed quietly. "It took me far too long to learn that. So do you agree with what I'm trying to do?"

Luna looked oddly serious. "Yes, actually, I do. I think... Well..."

"What?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, please. I've thought this for years, but if I'd said it before you'd have hexed me."

"Said what, Luna?" she demanded, exasperated.

"Well, I've often wondered if you and Professor Snape were at odds so much because you're so much alike. I mean, it's obvious why he hated Harry, and if you hate Harry you have to hate Ron as well, but you weren't so tangled. He seemed to hate you on your own merit."

"I annoyed him. I tried too hard, I showed off."

"So did a lot of students, but he never hated them for it."

"What's your point here, Luna? I'm not angry, just confused. How are we alike?"

"You're both hurt," Luna said simply. "What happened on the tower showed that. He couldn't have helped you unless what you were going through matched something he'd suffered; he wouldn't have known how. But it was always more than that. I think you must have been very similar to the sort of student he used to be."

"And what is that?"

"Clever. Isolated. Outcast. Frustrated. Lonely. Brilliant. Impatient."

Hermione opened her mouth in angry denial, and then closed it again. Nothing that Luna had just said was untrue. There were differences; she doubted Severus had ever tried to win a teacher's approval or help a less able student, and she had never created spells to hurt people or been exposed to the kind of universal bullying she had seen in the Pensieve. But Luna had just listed a lot of common factors.

"Maybe," she said finally, reluctantly. Had it been anyone else but Luna, she would have been outraged at the implications, but Luna didn't see the world in the same way as most people – that was why she was talking to her in the first place, after all. "What does that mean now, though?"

"I don't know," Luna replied cheerfully, "but obviously it means something. He wouldn't have opened up as much as he has to just anyone. Even with what you told me about his health, he didn't need to let you see as much as you have. He's responding to you, Hermione; the _why _doesn't matter. If you want to help him, you've got more chance than anyone else would. But that doesn't mean it's going to work."

"I know that," she assured her friend. "This isn't a fairy tale. He's not going to become a different person, and I don't want him to."

"What _do _you want?" Luna asked very seriously.

"I want to help him. I'm just not sure how. I'm not arrogant enough to think that I know how to help him. He is what he is; I just want to make that less painful and less difficult for him. And, well, in a strange way, I think we're friends, although most people probably wouldn't see it like that."

"Hmm," Luna murmured, apparently thinking about something else entirely; Hermione was used to that.

"What was he like when he gave you that interview?"

"What? Oh. He didn't. He sent it to me, and the photograph. I haven't seen him since the war."

"So, any ideas on what I do now?"

"Getting Crookshanks to help him was a good start," Luna said thoughtfully. "Animals are always easier to deal with than people. I think you had the right idea when you compared him to a feral stray... Hold that thought. Just let him get used to you being nearby sometimes. Try and find something to talk about – books might be a good idea. Something safe. Have you touched him at all since the tower?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't worry, I'm still not insane," Luna said with a smile. "It's a serious question."

Hermione thought about it for a while. "I've only seen him once or twice since then. He gave me the Dreamless Sleep I asked for and told me that it wasn't the answer, and I gave him his robe back, and we met briefly to talk about his research."

"Did you touch him?"

"I can't really remember... Wait. Yes. In the staff room, accidentally. I touched his arm."

"How did he react?"

"He jerked away," she said slowly. "Really violently. He tore the paper he was reading. I remember thinking I would have got less of a reaction if I'd accidentally stabbed him."

"And afterwards?"

"He acted as though nothing had happened, just growled at me to watch out."

"You were right, then. He probably hasn't been touched in a long time."

"What does that mean?"

"Touch is important, Hermione. Muggle psychologists have done experiments with animals – puppies or monkeys or something, I forget exactly. They took newborn animals, and raised them with all the basic needs – food, water, warmth, healthcare, cleanliness – everything except physical contact, with their own kind or with humans. They never touched them if possible."

"And what happened?" she asked curiously.

"Most of them died. The ones that survived were abnormal. Aggressive, dangerous, and incapable of interacting with one another."

Hermione processed that slowly. "So what does this mean I should do?"

"I don't know. This is your project, not mine. But if it helps, it's how they start taming horses; they spend a week or so just teaching the horse that being touched doesn't hurt, that it's not something to be afraid of. Maybe that's how you start. Show him that interacting with another human won't hurt him, that talking and touching is normal. I mean, intellectually he already knows that, but you need to show him unconsciously. This isn't an intellectual problem – or the two of you would find it much easier. This is about instincts, not reason. So asking a Ravenclaw for help wasn't very smart of you, really."

The two smiled at one another, before Hermione started to laugh. "You're giving me advice on how to break Severus to bridle?"

They both dissolved into helpless giggles.

_

* * *

Luna should be dreamier, perhaps, but nobody can be like that all the time. Crookshanks is going to be showing up again; he's fun. The pace is picking up a little, but we're still taking things nice and slowly, don't worry.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_'Tis the season for... er... angst. **Warning: **some bad language in this chapter.  


* * *

_

**"****It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death****.****"**  
– Mark Twain.

* * *

Christmas brought with it fresh and damning evidence of just how much of a struggle Hermione had ahead of her. On Christmas morning she walked into the staff room early, hoping to get there before everyone else did, and surveyed the room; the house elves had stacked each teacher's gifts neatly on their usual chair. She was saddened but not surprised to notice that the only chair with no parcels on was Severus' corner seat. She actually had got him a gift, after weeks of internal debate with herself, but to have her be the only one to give him a present would somehow be more humiliating than if nobody did.

Making herself a cup of coffee, she was surprised when the next person to walk in turned out to be Severus himself. Gathering her wits, she greeted him brightly. "Merry Christmas, Severus." He grunted vaguely in reply and came to pour his own coffee. "What brings you here?"

"It's a feast day," he growled in his early-morning voice, several octaves deeper than usual. "I am commanded to be sociable." Scanning the chairs, all piled high with brightly coloured packages except for his own, he sneered in a tired sort of way and went to sit down.

"I take it you're not surprised," she commented cautiously. "Was it always like this?"

"Not quite. Dumbledore usually gave me something. Always tasteless and normally useless. But he was the only one, and I always wished he wouldn't. There are only so many ways of destroying garish socks."

Glad that he could joke about it, even if it had more than a hint of gallows humour, she smiled slightly and took the small box from her pocket. "Hopefully this is neither tasteless nor useless. I was going to leave it on your chair until I saw the room."

It was another of those rare times when she caught him totally off guard. After a moment that lasted far too long, he shook off his frozen mood and very cautiously took the package as though he expected it to bite him, staring at it with an unreadable expression. Just short of the moment when she would have prompted him to actually do something, he shifted and dug into his pocket, unearthing a small fabric pouch and tossing it to her. Surprised, she fumbled the catch and almost dropped it.

"Don't get excited," he warned her sardonically, sounding more like his usual self. "It's not for you."

Bemused, she turned the little cushion over in her fingers; it seemed to be stuffed with dried leaves. Hermione sniffed it cautiously and felt her lips curve into a smile as she looked at him. "Catnip, Severus?" She tried to smother the smile and attempted a stern voice. "I disapprove of recreational drug use." He snorted softly, and she lost the battle to remain serious. "Crookshanks, however, does not. On his behalf, I thank you. Now open your present before everyone else shows up."

She had thought long and hard about what to get him. Anything too personal would have either made him suspicious or sent him further into his shell; anything too _im_personal was pointless. Nothing expensive, in case he thought it carried an obligation; nothing cheap in case it was insulting. That was before she'd touched on his personal tastes and opinions. All in all, it had taken weeks for her to find the solution, and now she hoped fervently that she'd guessed correctly.

Their conversation outside the caravan about smoking had been the inspiration. She'd bought him a new Zippo lighter; his old one was both plain and looked like it had been through a car crusher. This one had his initials in raised relief on one side, the double S standing out. He turned it over very slowly in his fingers as though he had no idea what it was.

"Light it," she told him. Glancing up at her through the curtains of hair currently hiding his face, he hesitated for a long moment before doing as he was told; as the flame snapped up, a familiar scent filled the room.

"Woodsmoke," he said in surprise.

"So you don't reek like the alley outside a pub," she told him, repeating his words from that early conversation. "There are a couple of other charms on it as well... It won't need refilling, and it won't get damaged. Your old one is so dented, it looks like an abstract sculpture."

He was staring at it as though he had never seen anything like it before, the little flame reflected in his eyes. Voices outside heralded the approach of some of the other teachers, and his head came up sharply; abruptly closing the lighter and shutting off the flame, he put it in his pocket with the wrapping and hesitated, looking between her and the door almost furtively. "Thank you," he said hastily. "It is... thank you." As the door opened, he snatched up yesterday's _Prophet _and snapped it open, effectively hiding behind it. It was a shame that something as simple and innocent as a Christmas present should be such a shock to him, but overall Hermione felt that it had gone quite well, under the circumstances – as well as could be expected, perhaps.

The rest of the morning passed in happy conversation as the staff members compared presents, laughing and mocking one another cheerfully. Severus had progressed from hiding behind the newspaper to folding it on his knee to do the crossword – with a Muggle ballpoint pen, she was amused to notice; he was still ignoring everyone, but not as ostentatiously as he usually did, and seemed part of the background rather than conspicuously apart from it.

"Who's that from, Hermione?" Minerva asked cheerfully as Hermione reached the final gift in her pile.

"I don't know," she replied, puzzled. "There's no label. And I've had presents from everyone I expected."

"A secret admirer, perhaps?"

She snorted. "Hardly likely, given that I live here, unless one of the students has a crush or Neville's going to throw his girlfriend over for me."

"Don't even joke about that," he told her. "You'd both kill me."

"True."

"Well, open it. Maybe there's a note inside," the Headmistress suggested.

Frowning, Hermione turned the small box over in her fingers before removing the green and gold paper. _It looks like a ring box... _She opened it and gasped in surprise. It _was _a ring, a solid silver band carved into the head and forequarters of an otter at one shoulder and with an otter's paw print on the other shoulder. It was simple and well made, and one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

"Oh, that's lovely," Minerva declared, looking over her shoulder. Other staff members grew interested, and before she could protest the ring had been passed around, discussed and admired.

"An otter? That's an odd choice for a ring, isn't it?"

"It's your Patronus, isn't it, 'Mione?" Neville said.

"I never knew that," Minerva commented.

"I don't think anybody outside the DA did, really. I never had to use a Patronus in the war," Hermione said absently as she reclaimed her gift and tried it on; it fit the middle finger of her right hand perfectly.

"There's no note. Do you know who it's from?"

"I... think so," she replied slowly.

"Is it a secret admirer after all?"

"No. It's from a friend," she said firmly, and just for a moment let her eyes flick past Minerva to the corner where Severus was apparently wholly absorbed in his crossword. He didn't appear to have looked up throughout the conversation, but his total lack of reaction was in itself a giveaway.

"Must be a good friend, to think of something like this." Minerva was definitely fishing; she saw a hint of a smirk crossing Severus' face, betraying that he was listening after all.

"I'm not sure, but I'd like to think so," Hermione agreed, and had the satisfaction of seeing him drop his pen.

* * *

There was a small parcel on her desk when she reached her rooms that evening. It turned out to be a glass vial full of a familiar silvery swirl, and a note.

_Happy Christmas, Hermione. I didn't want this to arrive with all the others; it's better you look at it privately. I suppose it explains why I'm happy to help with... taming the wild horse, shall we say? I think you'll find it interesting, and hopefully useful._

_Luna._

Frowning, Hermione studied the little vial of memories, before being interrupted by a meow. She looked down at Crookshanks and smiled, pulling the little packet of catnip out of her pocket. "Here, Crooks. Severus says Merry Christmas. I'm going to be busy for a while, so amuse yourself," she told him, tossing him the toy. He fell on it, pinning it down with his paws and rubbing his face against it ecstatically. "Don't overdo it," she told him dryly, heading for her living room and her own small Pensieve.

* * *

As soon as Hermione saw the first memory, she understood her friend's gift. She found herself in the familiar confines of the Potions classroom, standing beside an eleven-year-old Luna and watching as a younger and less scarred Severus Snape swept into the room, every bit as compelling as she remembered despite his unattractive appearance. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making..." Hermione bit her lip, smiling. Apparently he used that speech for every new intake of students. Then again, she had to admit it was memorable; even now she still recalled every word, and found herself mouthing along with him as he spoke to the obviously impressed and intimidated students.

Fleeting memories of other Potions lessons followed. Lessons with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seemed to have been far less tense and hostile than those with Gryffindor and Slytherin; there were no troublemakers, no feuds. Without his favourite and least favourite Houses, Snape seemed far more neutral and more flexible in his approach; he barely insulted a single student that Hermione could see, and lost his temper only once in what appeared to be Luna's third year when a Hufflepuff boy came perilously close to causing an accident that probably would have killed him and most of his classmates.

As the lessons progressed, his demeanour changed. By the end of Luna's second year he was noticeably more short-tempered and less forgiving, presumably due to all the problems with Remus and Sirius that had been taking place at the time, although naturally Luna hadn't known anything about it. At the start of her third year he seemed back to normal – which was still so far removed from his normal attitude in her own lessons that Hermione could scarcely believe what she was seeing – but around half way through the first term there was a lesson that was far more like what she would expect from him; he stormed in late, in a towering fury, looking as though he hadn't slept in a week and snapping at everyone, taking points for the flimsiest of reasons and generally acting as though he was facing an entire class of Harry Potter duplicates. The third-year Luna clearly hadn't had any idea why he was acting like this; the adult Hermione watching the memory could see Snape's visible agitation as he paced back and forth across the classroom, rubbing his left arm almost constantly and looking from side to side restlessly. Obviously this was when the Mark had started darkening on his arm.

Lessons throughout that year, for the Ravenclaws, had grown a little better after that initial outburst but began steadily declining shortly before Easter – presumably as the Mark grew clearer and the danger of Voldemort's return crept ever closer. In each lesson, Hermione could see clearly how Snape looked more tired and more stressed out, and made a mental note to re-examine her own memories of her fourth year for similar signs.

She had expected more of the same in Luna's fourth – and therefore her own fifth – year, but she was wrong. Snape had apparently used all his energy maintaining his usual attitude when policing the Slytherin-Gryffindor lessons; he seemed not to have any to spare for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff classes. His attitude was almost apathetic; he left the students largely to their own devices, as long as they worked quietly and didn't destroy anything. Students in Luna's classes seemed much better behaved than Hermione's classmates had been, and there were very few who did anything that would incur his wrath; just as well, since he was excessively harsh in punishing even small transgressions. It seemed to Hermione that he was punishing them for disturbing what moments of peace he could find rather than for whatever crime they had actually committed.

The next memory was of Luna serving a late detention with Snape for accidentally spilling her potion during one of his bad moods. Luna was desultorily scouring cauldrons, and by the look on her face was daydreaming about something else entirely – probably Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Hermione told herself, smiling – when both she and the watching Hermione were startled by the sound of Snape dropping his quill and hissing. Hermione watched in fascinated horror as the Potions master reflexively clutched at his arm; he was apparently being Summoned, something she had never seen personally. "Miss Lovegood," he rasped; Luna appeared not to notice, but Hermione could see and hear how much he was struggling for control. "That will do for this evening. I have a prior engagement that had temporarily slipped my mind. Take a message to the Headmaster's office informing him that I will be out for the evening, and then you may go." As a confused but compliant Luna left the room, Hermione heard him whisper under his breath, "How high will the price be tonight, I wonder?"

The next memories were of Defence lessons. The content here was a little different, since Luna was a year younger than Hermione and had been learning the OWL material that the Gryffindor should have learned under Umbridge. As with the earlier Potions lessons, however, the atmosphere was far less hostile for the most part and the lessons went more easily. Snape looked older and more tired than ever, noticeably thinner than he had been in early Potions lessons, and the shadows beneath his eyes grew deeper every time the memory shifted. His moods seemed more changeable; one lesson he might be all but slumped in his chair, assigning the class a chapter of the textbook to read in silence and seeming not to have the energy for anything else, and then in the next lesson he might be pacing restlessly back and forth barking questions at them and ridiculing the answers. Hermione noticed times when he was limping and clearly hurt, and times when his eyes were haunted, and once she even half-thought he was hung over.

Finally the memories shifted to Luna's sixth year. Hermione watched eagerly; she knew only the sketchiest details of what had occurred at Hogwarts while she had been off hunting Horcruxes. The first memory was of the start-of-term feast; the deadened, lifeless look in Snape's eyes was as pronounced as she had ever seen it as he stood and addressed the school as Headmaster, and his voice sounded equally dead as he announced the changes to the faculty and curriculum for the coming year. He looked even older, and it was jarring to recall that he had only been thirty seven at the time. He seemed unaware of the hatred in almost every face as the school silently glared at him, but Hermione could see the bitterness in his dark, tired eyes as he spoke. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he must have been going through. He had done exactly as Dumbledore had instructed, and his reward was to be universally despised and left to struggle on alone.

The next memory was of the adult Luna addressing an empty room. "The next few memories are very dark, Hermione. It wasn't a good time. But you need to see the whole picture."

Hermione understood what her friend meant as the scenes unfolded. Luna had been working closely with Ginny and Neville; the three of them were punished frequently and severely. The near-identical memories seemed to roll on without end, making Hermione feel ill, but after a while she noticed a pattern. When it was the Carrows who inflicted the punishment, Snape was always present and frequently took over after a short while; when the Headmaster was cursing them, there was nobody else in the room. From an outsider's perspective it was difficult to judge, but her friends' screams and convulsions didn't seem as severe in the latter instances. Some of the memories were hazy, too, showing signs of tampering.

Finally the memories changed, moving away from scenes of torture and horror to more everyday images. Snape was present at meals irregularly, and seemed in worse health every time he appeared. The Headmaster's office was forbidden to everyone, including staff members, without an appointment; there were rumours from the more daring students that sometimes when they ventured to walk past the gargoyle guarding the door, they heard raised voices from inside. Luna herself was being worn down by what was happening; Hermione saw one or two instances of sleepless nights, with the implication that it was a regular occurrence, before a night when Luna was curled up on a windowsill in the Ravenclaw common room, staring out of the window with a puzzled expression on her face. Hermione joined her and observed the dark figure of Severus Snape walking the walltops below the tower. That became a recurring theme in the memories that followed; Luna had seen him walking around at night over and over again.

Once, Luna witnessed the Headmaster travelling up the drive towards the front door of the castle. He was limping badly, staggering almost, and weaving a little as he made his unsteady way back to the sanctuary of Hogwarts, holding his left arm across his chest.

An apparent bad dream sent the younger Luna out of her dormitory one night and sneaking down to the kitchens for a cup of what appeared to be hot milk; she was unfortunate enough to encounter Snape on the way back and actually cowered back from him a little. Hermione felt sick to see that reaction in her friend; watching Snape's face, she rather thought he felt the same, for all that he showed no expression save for a scowl.

"Out of bed past curfew, Miss Lovegood?" he asked silkily in his most dangerous voice.

"Y-yes, sir. I – I couldn't sleep and I thought a warm drink might help... I'm sorry, sir..."

He looked at her with his eyes glittering maliciously, sneering and looking every inch the villain, before the strength seemed to drain out of him and his shoulders slumped as he beheld the young girl staring at him in abject misery and terror.

"In future when you can't sleep, stay in your dormitory or common room," he said tiredly. "It's safer. Go to bed." Luna stared at him, wide-eyed. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind," he snapped, sending her running. Before the memory drew her away, Hermione heard him mutter under his breath, "Will it never stop?"

The memories faded, and Hermione found herself again facing the now-adult Luna speaking to the empty room. "Well, there you go. I hope it helped. I've forgotten a lot, I think. But looking back, I always felt that something wasn't quite right, that things weren't quite what they seemed. I did notice that there were times when he seemed to be hurt; after the Ministry, when you told me about the Order, I knew why. In that last year, though, after Dumbledore died... I didn't have any idea at the time, of course; I hated him as much as anyone. But when he cursed us, it never hurt as much as when the Carrows did it. And my memories of those times didn't always match up to Neville's or Ginny's – I think some of them were faked, so everyone thought we'd been tortured but we didn't actually suffer the damage. And sometimes he wouldn't curse us at all; he just gave us detention with someone like Hagrid. Once I saw him that first time, I noticed him walking around at night quite a lot, and realised he wasn't sleeping any better than I was.

"And you've just seen the time I saw him return from what must have been a Death Eater meeting. The next morning I found blood on the steps outside the doors. That was when I really started wondering what was going on, because if Snape was really the villain working for Voldemort, why would he have been punished so severely? Why did he never seem to enjoy what he was doing? And why did he seem to be suffering – the insomnia, his generally looking unhealthy? That time outside the kitchens wasn't the only time I accidentally ran into him after hours; I like to walk around when I can't sleep, too. I think he realised that that was why I was doing it. He never punished me for breaking curfew; once the Carrows were with him, and he stopped them from hexing me.

"But don't fool yourself, Hermione. Most of those memories of torture were very real. If his curses didn't hurt quite as much as those cast by the Carrows, they were still very bad indeed. He put all of us in the hospital wing at one time or another. Whatever his motives, whatever he was going through, whoever else he served, he was still a Death Eater. What he did to us was just as real as his betrayal of Voldemort. It was necessary, and he clearly took no pleasure in it, but it still happened. We didn't suffer any less just because he was suffering too. I'm sure he'll tell you the same if you ever manage to get him to talk about it. It's about the dark as well as the light; you have to see the whole picture.

"Anyway, I hope all this helped you see him from a different perspective. It's a part of him you didn't get to see. Your lessons sounded very different to ours, and you weren't there for that final year. You wanted a different view, that's why you came to me, so I hope this helped. It's not a very cheerful Christmas present, is it? Let me know what you think."

* * *

_Dear Luna_

_Thank you so much for the memories. They were very helpful; I've resolved to go back and look at my own memories more dispassionately now to see what else I can puzzle out with hindsight. You're right that they weren't very cheerful, but I wouldn't have expected them to be, and you're right, I did need to see the whole view._

_I want to apologise for you having to go through that, but I'm trying to get out of the Gryffindor habit of apologising for things that weren't my fault – a certain Slytherin keeps telling me off for it. Still, you know you have my sympathy, for what it's worth._

_I doubt I'll ever manage to talk to him about it, somehow. I can't see him ever trusting anyone enough to open up that much, and to be honest I don't know if I want to hear about it. Knowing what he's done isn't the same as having to confront it – yes, I know, I'm in denial. I'm trying not to be. If I'm ever going to be friends with him I need to accept the dark as well as the light... I'm working on it._

_I think there's a chance of us being friends, though. He actually got me a Christmas present! Not that he admitted it, of course. There was no tag, no note, but it had to be from him. It's a silver ring with an otter on it – I'll show it to you when I next see you. I may never take it off; it's simply beautiful. I know it could have been from someone else, but not many people know about my Patronus and I've told you about the conversation we had about totems. Besides, he was watching when I opened it, even if he was pretending not to._

_He's a difficult man to interact with. I can't thank him for the present – he really has a problem with being thanked, even for something as simple as passing a pen, for some reason. It makes him really uncomfortable. I don't know what he thinks about the present I gave him – I went with the lighter in the end. I know he liked it, but he didn't seem to know how to react. I hope I haven't made him paranoid; I don't think he'll believe that it was an innocent gesture. It's all about striking the right balance with him, not going too far._

_I know I like a challenge, but this one might be beyond me!_

_Thanks again for the gift, and Merry Christmas._

_Hermione.

* * *

Dear Hermione_

_You're welcome. I'm intrigued by the ring – I didn't picture him as the jewellery type myself. It's a break in the pattern, which I'll have to think about. Yes, you've drawn me in to Project Wild Horse now (and yes, I am going to keep calling it that. If nothing else it means that we can talk about it in front of other people – very sneaky!) and I'm going to be analysing all the details you give me, so keep me updated._

_What you say about his not liking to be thanked is interesting. There are several possible reasons. One is that he's simply not used to it – nobody's ever actually said, "By the way, thanks for dealing with the megalomaniacal psychopath and enduring endless torment for us, we couldn't have succeeded without you," have they? If it comes to that, I shouldn't think many people have said, "Thanks for passing me that pen," either. Or it might be that he's uncomfortable with the whole concept of debt and obligation – that's what's behind thanking someone, after all. Or maybe he just doesn't like having attention drawn to the fact that he's done something nice!_

_An image came to mind when I read what you said about finding the balance. I found myself thinking of a blacksmith working with cast iron. It's brittle; it will bend and can be shaped, but only if you're very careful. A fraction too much pressure and it will snap. Maybe he's reached that point already, but I don't think so, not quite. Maybe you can save him from that, soften the iron a bit so it can be worked with safely. Am I on the right lines here?_

_Luna.

* * *

Dear Luna_

_That's a beautiful metaphor, actually. I'm going to keep that image in my mind when I deal with him. I'm not sure how the Astronomy Tower fits in, though – I'm pretty sure that even in the wizarding world the cast iron doesn't hug you and let you cry on it!_

_Anyway, I want to tell you about what happened on New Year's Eve..._

Hermione had been with her fellow staff members until midnight, with the notable exception of Severus who was nowhere in sight. After wishing them a Happy New Year, she had gone to bed, only to be woken an hour later by a distressed Crookshanks pawing at her hand and meowing loudly.

"What?" she mumbled drowsily, opening one eye. "Get your toy stuck behind the bed again? It can wait 'til morning."

Crookshanks meowed more insistently, butting his face against hers. Frowning, Hermione sat up and looked at him. He jumped to the floor and padded over to the door, turning back to look at her and meowing again.

"You want me to follow you." She sighed and swung her legs out of bed, reaching for her robe. "All right, fine, but if Timmy's stuck down the well, I'm going back to bed." It was freezing cold in the castle; she took a few minutes to get dressed, ignoring her cat's increasingly loud demands. Tying her hair back out of the way, she gave the cat an exasperated look. "For Merlin's sake, Crooks, what _is _it? Is one of the students in trouble?"

Her familiar made an annoyed sound that was presumably a 'no' and pawed at the edge of the half-open door. Pulling her shoes on, she sighed and followed him out into the corridor. "Someone else, then?" He meowed in response and darted off, stopping at a bend in the passage and waiting with his tail twitching impatiently for her to catch up. Stifling a yawn, Hermione froze as an idea occurred to her. "Is it Severus?" Another meow.

Wrapping her robe more tightly around her, she followed the cat, walking faster now and taking short cuts through some of the hidden passages as they descended to the dungeons. "Is he hurt?" Crookshanks huffed out a breath through his whiskers, rumbling. "Not hurt. Well, that's something. But you think I need to go to him?" He meowed. "You know, Crookshanks, my life would be easier if you just broke down and talked."

She wasn't sure what to expect when she cautiously spoke the password and entered his chambers. His rooms were in darkness; she stood by the door and let her eyes adjust, listening to the faint music and recognising Leonard Cohen. The depressing music was a bad sign, as was the fact that she could smell whiskey – a lot of whiskey. "Severus?" she half-whispered uncertainly.

"What are you doing here so late, Professor Granger?" his voice drawled from the shadows. "A dungeon is hardly the place for a night-time stroll."

"Well, it's snowing outside, so I decided to stay in," she replied sarcastically, peering into the darkness before giving up and drawing her wand. "_Lumos._" He was sprawled in an armchair on the far side of the room, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the light cast by her wand. The bottle on the table at his elbow was almost empty; Leonard Cohen's voice faded and was replaced by someone equally cheerful who sounded like Nick Cave. "This is an unconventional way to celebrate the New Year. Most people try for something a little more positive."

"I've never been much for following the crowd. What are you doing here?"

"Crookshanks was doing his Lassie impersonation."

"Bloody cat's as interfering as his mistress," he muttered. "Scratched my hand trying to stop me pouring a drink."

"Maybe he thought you'd had enough," Hermione replied tartly, moving to sit in the chair opposite him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Never really needed a reason."

"Come off it, Severus. You're not as drunk as you're pretending to be. If you'd really drunk as much as seems to be missing from that bottle, you'd be unconscious. What's wrong? Don't you like the New Year?"

"Difficult to say, as it's only about an hour old, but so far, no, not really."

"You know that isn't what I was asking, so stop being facetious. What's wrong?"

"What's right?" he countered. "This year won't be any different from the last one. The same mistakes, the same stupidity, playing out over and over like a stuck record. It's all so fucking pointless."

She had never heard him swear before. Then again, she'd never really heard any wizard swear before – creative oaths about Merlin notwithstanding. But somehow from a man like Severus, the foul language was even more shocking. "Well, that's a cheerful attitude, even for you."

"Well, it is," he insisted. "Everyone thinks of the new year as a time of hope, making resolutions, looking forward. Nobody stops to realise that the resolutions are all broken by February and that there's nothing to look forward _to._ How did you celebrate the millennium?"

"What? Oh... I was in Grimmauld Place. The surviving Order gathered to see it in together."

"How charming," he sneered. "I was in New York, in Times Square. There must have been hundreds of people there. Everyone joined in the countdown, and at midnight they all cheered before everyone started singing Auld Lang bloody Syne, and for just a moment I could feel it – everyone was thinking exactly the same thing, united, and there was a real feeling of hope. For just a moment. Then a fight broke out, and the riot police had to come in and break up the crowd, and things went back to normal at one minute past midnight. I realised it was all false. There is no hope for humanity. We're our own worst enemy."

"Well, if that's really true, Severus, then what's the point in getting up in the morning?" she challenged him. "What are you doing here? If it's all so pointless, it would have made more sense to kill yourself years ago." That was a harsh and terrible thing to say, but the hollow tone in his voice had shaken her and she was desperate to get some sort of reaction from him. "What did you go through it all for?"

"Damned if I know," he replied flatly. "Didn't do me any good, did it? And I didn't really achieve anything much. He wasn't the first Dark Lord the world has seen, and he won't be the last. Sooner or later one of them is going to win. Might as well have been him. Hasn't changed anything much, has it? People still commit ghastly crimes, people still cling to their prejudices like teddy bears, people are still afraid of the dark. There's still evil and darkness and hate. And in a few years, there'll be another He-Who-Was-An-Anagram and it'll all start up again and play out the exact same way, except maybe this time we'll lose. It's like a revolution. Do you know why it's called a revolution? Because it always comes around again. People die, and nothing changes."

Hermione was silent for a while, unable to speak as she tried to imagine actually feeling like that. Did he truly believe what he had said? She desperately hoped it was just the alcohol and his mood; because if this was truly how he saw the world, then he was broken beyond repair. Potentially, there was a great deal riding on her answer, and she thought for a while before speaking.

"That's the whole point, Severus. People are still able to choose to be wicked and prejudiced and afraid; people are still able to be people. The good and the bad. If the Dark Lord had won, there would be no choices. We'd be his slaves, his puppets, or we'd be dead. We're afraid of the dark because we still know the difference between the light and the dark, and we choose to try and stay in the light. Maybe one day that will change; maybe we will lose. Maybe not. But here and now, we won, and the world is able to continue as it always has rather than descend into empty night. It's not all darkness."

"This part is," he replied after a moment, and she sensed they were getting to what really bothered him.

"Nobody is beyond redemption, Severus, not even you."

"Easy for you to say. Have you ever actually killed anyone?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Battles are confusing things. I have no idea if any of the curses I used hit their targets or not, and I have no idea whether they proved fatal or not. But I have cast spells with the intent to kill, yes."

"In battle, in self defence, in defence of your loved ones. There's no honour in it, and certainly no glory, but it's clean, in a way. Imagine a different scenario. Imagine facing a helpless, unarmed captive, and killing them – often unnecessarily slowly and brutally – purely because someone told you to. Imagine if it was someone you knew. Or if it was a child. Or anyone, really, because it doesn't really matter who they used to be once you've reduced them to so much meat. Imagine doing unspeakable things to helpless victims, over and over again, and watching worse things happen, and doing nothing to prevent it. Just standing and watching. All because some smug sanctimonious bastard insists that it's for the greater good, that you doing nothing is somehow important, that it is necessary for you to soak yourself in blood and tear your soul apart, and because whenever you close your eyes you can see the dead who you owe a debt you can _never _pay."

The words were spilling out of him in a torrent; he was talking so fast he stumbled over his words.

"And when you've attempted to grasp how that feels, add other kinds of pain. Imagine being tortured over and over again, often for no reason except that your master is bored or irritated. Imagine other forms of torture, imagine being used for entertainment. Imagine feeling that whatever happens to you, it's somehow better than what you've been forced to do to other people, trying to tell yourself that, to make it somehow noble when it really, really isn't. Imagine trying to take pride in your strength, trying to find some good in the fucking cesspit of your life, trying to find something that isn't rotten right through. And then finally being allowed to leave, bleeding and torn, and going to a different master and reporting yet another failure to a different shadowy room full of people who utterly despise you for what you've done in their service and who don't know you're hurt but wouldn't care if they did, who would be pleased that you were hurt because they would think it's the least you deserve and you know they're right."

He was shaking violently, and if it had been anyone else they would have been crying. Hermione would rather he started crying; anything would be better than the desolation she saw in his eyes. He was in hell.

"And imagine all of that going on for years, almost every day, until everything begins to blur together and you can barely tell when you've been wounded any more because you can't remember a time when you didn't hurt somewhere, somehow. You can't remember the faces of the people you've killed and tortured because there have been too many of them. You've got more scars than normal skin and you can't remember how you got most of them any more. The world's getting darker every day and you know you're a part of that darkness, that you're making it worse in the hope that by doing so you'll let someone else stop it. And there's nobody left on your side now, because you've turned on your own and bitten the hand that feeds you, bitten it clean off, and there's not a single person left alive who doesn't hate you and yet no matter how much they do despise you it will never, _never _be as much as you hate yourself, and _you can't fucking stop. _There's no way out, all you can do is go further in and hope that it will end soon, except there's no hope left in you any more."

Hermione was fighting not to be sick, unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. Nobody could imagine what he was describing, but she was getting close enough to leave her shaking under the strain of trying to cope with just the _description._ The reality would have broken her within days. How had he been strong enough to survive?

"Then, just when you've all but given up, the last remnant of your life falls apart. The one person who has any use for you at all decides that you're not useful any more and turns on you. Not because he's learned what you've been trying to do, not because you've finally been able to tell him what a sick bastard he is, but just because he doesn't need you any more. Now nobody needs you, you have nothing to offer anyone, and all you can do is try and justify the unjustifiable and lie in your own blood praying for death only to have even that denied to you. Finally, it's all over, and you can crawl away to lick your wounds and taste the bitter knowledge of knowing that you have no place in the new world you helped to create because anyone who recognises you will try to kill you on sight and you want them to. You want to die so much that you know you don't deserve it, that death is too easy for you after what you've done, so you force yourself to live in a world that doesn't want you and is too good for the likes of you. Trying to rebuild some sort of life with what remains of your soul. _And you speak to me of redemption?_"

He stopped talking, gasping for breath, panting as though he had been running. Seizing the whiskey bottle, he drained what was left in several long swallows, gagging on the raw liquor before hurling the bottle across the room to shatter against the wall. The ever-present music had stopped at some point while he spoke, and now the silence crowded in on them in the almost complete darkness.

"I can't imagine that," she said finally through her tears. "You know I can't. I can't even begin to imagine it."

Crookshanks had jumped into Severus' lap, making a low rumble of distress and rubbing his face against the wizard's hand, trying to offer comfort. Slowly his breathing quieted; he seemed unnaturally composed given his sudden outburst. "Then imagine something else," he said hoarsely. "Imagine the aftermath. Imagine seeing people every day who have no idea how fortunate they are to still be alive and free. Imagine watching them waste that gift in the same stupid mistakes, over and over again. Then ask me why I don't think the New Year is generally worth celebrating."

It was as if everything he had said previously had been about someone else entirely, as if he had never said it at all. That couldn't be either normal or healthy, but if it was how he coped, if he _could _cope in any way with everything he had told her of, she had no right to stop him. Hermione dried her eyes on her sleeve, taking a deep breath, trying to think of some incredibly meaningful and deep words to say, to try and reach out to him. Abruptly a small voice in the back of her mind that sounded remarkably like Severus himself told her that wasn't the way to go, and she changed tactics.

"Are you done?" she asked tartly.

He blinked at her, nonplussed, then seemed to rally. "For the moment."

"Good; because you were starting to get a little repetitive." Hoping that her instincts were right, she leaned back in her chair. "I'm not Albus Dumbledore. I don't have any wonderful speeches about love and sacrifice. You're right; people are stupid, and life isn't always pleasant, and yours has been worse than most. But that's not the whole story. It's very Gryffindor of you to only see one side of things, you know. There's light as well, or you wouldn't have anything to see the darkness by. Even your life has had some good things in it. There was Lily, when you were young. There have been moments with your colleagues, even if it's just a semi-civil conversation over breakfast, or times when you were on their side – against Umbridge, for example; don't tell me you didn't enjoy opposing her. Your Potions work – I've watched you brew; you get something good from that. Little things – your books, your music, your origami. If it was all darkness, you wouldn't have survived, and don't give me that speech about death being too good for you."

He was staring at her, and for a moment she was afraid that her instincts had been wrong, that she'd done more damage to a man already damaged beyond healing; but then he smiled slowly for the first time, a real smile of genuine pleasure, with no bitterness and no mockery to be seen. It was a nice smile, even with his crooked teeth. She smiled back at him, relieved if somewhat confused; she had absolutely no idea why this approach had worked or how she'd known that sympathy wouldn't have reached him. His smile broadened, and then he began to laugh softly, the rich deep rusty laugh she had heard only twice before. Shaking his head, he began stroking Crookshanks, who started to purr softly.

"Thank you, Hermione," he told her sincerely. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled in a long sigh, stretching in his chair and settling back more comfortably. "I would like to say that I am not usually a maudlin drunk, but since I only get drunk when I am depressed, that would be inaccurate. Let us say that I am not usually a self-pitying drunk."

"You're entitled to feel a little sorry for yourself," she told him. "Just not quite as much as you were. Not everything you did was pointless, you know. And speaking as someone who you've personally saved on more than one occasion, I for one am quite glad you bothered."

He started to laugh again, and she joined him as it occurred to her just how utterly ridiculous this all was, and because she remembered what he'd said and if she didn't laugh she would start to cry again and that wouldn't help either of them. Their combined laughter echoed through the silent dungeons, and when it finally faded he had relaxed and closed his eyes, which were no longer desolate but calm and somehow gentle.

"Go to bed, Hermione," he told her without opening his eyes. "And take your feline Lassie with you. I'll be fine now."

"All right," she agreed, realising just how late it was. Standing, she crossed to him and picked up Crookshanks from his lap carefully. Shifting the cat's weight in her arms, she touched his shoulder gently before turning away. At the door she paused and looked back at him. "Happy New Year, Severus."

"If you say so," he replied with a small smile. "Good night."

_

* * *

Hermione's ring can be seen by going to wantitall dot co dot za and searching 'silver otter ring'; it's the second result.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_Wonderful news, folks - after two and a half years of being unemployed, I now have a job. It shouldn't affect my writing in any way though. Be happy for me!  


* * *

_

**"****I don't know what I'm searching for**,  
** I never have opened the door;**  
** Tomorrow might find me at last**  
** Turning my back on the past****.****"**  
– The Moody Blues, 'You Can Never Go Home'.

* * *

Nine days later Hermione tracked Severus down using the Marauder's Map and found him outside the main doors, watching the falling snow. "Hello," she greeted him softly.

"Hello, yourself," he replied. "Come to tell me off again?"

"No, not unless I think you deserve it," she replied, surprised by his teasing. This was yet another side of him that she had never seen before; the man had more facets than a diamond. "I was thinking about our last little chat," she added impulsively; that wasn't why she wanted to talk to him, but it would do as a conversation starter.

"And no doubt you have questions," he drawled.

"Quite a few, including your lamentable taste in whiskey, but I wanted to ask about the nickname you used for the Dark Lord. He-Who-Was-An-Anagram?"

He relaxed a little and smirked at her. "What, you thought Death Eaters couldn't mock him? The Mark stops me saying his name, that's all. It doesn't stop me saying that he was an overblown idiot. I made fun of him all the time; one of the joys of being an Occlumens."

"What other names did you have for him?"

"Most of them are inappropriate, and incidentally I apologise for my language the other night," he told her, continuing airily before she could respond, "One of my favourite tricks was to hum the Imperial March from Star Wars in my head when he walked in."

She started to laugh. "Really?"

"Really. I was quite safe; he didn't know I was doing it, and he wouldn't have recognised the tune if he did. That's one drawback to a pureblood society; nobody to understand pop culture references. I used to do the same sort of thing to Dumbledore, only more directly; he could usually tell that I was mocking him, but he didn't get the joke. It infuriated him more than anything else I did, I think."

Laughing, she looked up at him. "I've missed things like that since learning I was a witch. Harry understands more than most, but he's turned away from his Muggle upbringing. So have the other Muggleborns I know. It's strange being able to talk about things like Darth Vader, here of all places."

"It can be useful, though. Sometimes it's almost like having a private language. I enjoy being able to make jokes at other people's expense, knowing that they can't prove I was mocking them because they don't understand what I said."

"We're not all snarky Slytherin gits," she told him primly, attempting to sound superior.

"The world wouldn't be able to cope if you were," he responded, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket. She noticed that he was using the new lighter she had given him and suppressed a smile, pleased that he liked it. The scent of woodsmoke cut through the snow for a moment as he lit up. "What are you doing out here, anyway? It's freezing."

"I just wanted to see you for a moment and make sure you were all right."

"Do stop mothering me," he grumbled. "I managed perfectly well before you came along, you know."

"Is that why you have such a sunny disposition?" she asked sweetly, and grinned as he snorted. "I also wanted to give you a birthday present. I won't bother asking if anyone else remembered, since they clearly didn't." She pulled the small package out of her pocket and held it out.

He seemed torn between surprised, wary and amused as he accepted it. "Some people wouldn't necessarily want the reminder that they are getting old."

"You're forty nine, Severus. That's hardly decrepit even for a Muggle, and for a wizard it's not even close to middle aged." She watched him peel away the layer of tissue paper to reveal the circular pendant hanging from its cord; he held it up in front of his face, frowning slightly as he studied the interlocked black and white teardrops.

"A yin-yang?"

"Light and darkness, in balance," she told him softly. "I thought you could use a reminder." In many ways, it was a representation of Severus himself, a perfect balance between the light and the dark. After a long moment he lowered the necklace into his palm, gathering the cord it hung from and putting it in his pocket without comment; his expression was distant, thoughtful and somehow pensive.

They stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she shivered and asked, "Why are _you _out here? It really is freezing."

"I'm forbidden to smoke inside the castle, even within my own rooms. I could have broken the charm that ensures that, but truthfully I can't be bothered. This gives me an excuse to get some fresh air."

"And you couldn't have waited until it stopped snowing?"

"This is Scotland. It won't stop snowing until April. Anyway, I like watching the snow. I spent over a year in the Canadian Rockies because I missed proper snow; in a genuine log cabin. It was like something out of a film."

"What was it like?" she asked curiously.

"You would have found it lonely after a while, I think. There was literally nobody else for at least fifty miles in any direction. It was so quiet you could hear the snowflakes falling. I don't usually like silence, as you know, but there it was different. It was peace, true peace, and it was beautiful." That seemed an odd choice of word from a man like Severus, but she could almost imagine what he was describing.

"It sounds it," she said softly. "Didn't you find it lonely?"

"Not there, no; I expected to, I found it hard to be on my own throughout my other travels. But the atmosphere there was like nothing I have ever known before or since, and the isolation felt... right. I needed it, I think, but I couldn't have stayed there any longer than I did. It was the deep breath before the plunge, really, a final rest before I returned to England."

"You must have seen some incredible things, travelling like that."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "I saw more than most travellers would see, because I had no timetable. I walked almost everywhere; I only Apparated to cross oceans. I walked the entire length of North America, from Mexico into the Canadian Rockies."

"Really? Like in _The Day After Tomorrow?_"

He snorted. "Hardly. It took me longer than two days. That was a terrible film."

"True."

"It took me perhaps nine or ten months. I lost track of time. Until I returned to England and made an effort to pay attention to the date, I didn't know how long I had been away. That, too, was oddly liberating in its own way, to live almost like an animal in accordance with my internal body clock and not by what the movement of the sun dictates. It is strangely freeing."

"And yet here you are in a school, one of the most tightly regimented institutions on Earth," she observed dryly.

"One of life's many ironies," he agreed sardonically. "Still, I can live outside the regime to some extent; my classes are the only constant. And I have advantages that my fellow staff members – including you – do not."

"Ah, yes, your mysterious ability to come and go as you please," Hermione replied. "I haven't forgotten your little challenge, but I admit that I haven't made much progress."

Severus raised his eyebrows in what seemed genuine surprise. "I would have thought you would have worked it out long before now. Perhaps I gave you too much credit."

"Or perhaps I've had other things on my mind," she shot back. "You didn't give me much to go on. You don't need passwords to get into private spaces, you're not the only one who can do it but not everyone can..." She paused and blinked as a thought that had been in development for weeks finally made itself known at the back of her mind, and her eyes widened. "_That's _why you're never surprised when I show up, why you always seem to know when someone is coming. I always thought it was uncanny when Albus did it. Minerva does the same thing. That's it, isn't it? I suppose I thought of it when I mentioned Umbridge the other night."

"Really, Miss Granger, anyone would think you had never been taught to present your conclusions scientifically," he drawled. "You call that garbled mess an explanation?"

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts in order. This had never occurred to her. "It's because you're still technically Headmaster, isn't it. You didn't die in office, you didn't resign, and you were never formally sacked because everyone assumed you were dead." She stared up at him in disbelief.

His eyes glittered with amused approval. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he said softly.

"But... you fled the castle."

"The castle, yes, but not the job. I chose to leave because the other option was to kill three of my colleagues; contrary to their opinion of the incident, they did _not _drive me away. I could have won, had I stayed, although it would have been a very hard fight. I left the building willingly and did not resign my post."

"My God, Severus. This is... amazing. What does it actually mean?"

Lounging more comfortably against the wall, he blinked snow off his eyelashes and stared contemplatively out into the swirling whiteness. "Hogwarts is a semi-aware entity. It responds to those around it. Most obvious is the Room of Requirement and the movement of the staircases. The Head's office is another example; you yourself mentioned Dolores Umbridge. As I am sure you recall, the office sealed itself against her, and her rooms were never wholly secure. The school refused to recognise her as Headmistress. There have been cases in the past when a candidate was rejected by Hogwarts itself. To the disappointment and confusion of my colleagues, I was not one of them."

"What powers does it give you?" she asked faintly.

"I can access anywhere in the castle, regardless of what security measures are in place – except the Chamber of Secrets, which is not counted as part of Hogwarts. I know all the secret passages – you learned when you became a teacher that there are more than the _Marauders _ever found; there are still more that are known only to the Headmaster or Headmistress. I can command the house-elves, the portraits, the ghosts, the statues and the suits of armour. I can activate the high-level emergency wards that protect Hogwarts. I can walk freely in the grounds, including the Forbidden Forest, without risk of harm. I can seal parts of the castle against anyone except McGonagall. I can control the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall – a small thing, but it can be amusing. And, as you have observed, I always know who is nearby."

"My God," she repeated softly, stunned.

"Astonishing. Hermione Granger is officially lost for words. It really must be my birthday," he commented in amusement.

"Oh, shut up," she told him. "This is incredible. But why would Hogwarts recognise two masters?"

"It has happened before, when an incumbent has been very ill – they aren't dead, they cannot articulate a resignation and they can't be sacked for being ill. Or when the current incumbent has to be absent for a long period of time. The school chooses whether or not to respond in such cases. Hogwarts' semi-sentience is one reason why the Ministry has very little power here."

"And nobody else knows?"

"Oh, no. Everybody _knows._ But nobody has _realised _that they know. All the information is there. But even you needed a few hints to put it all together, so I am certainly not worried about anyone else working it out."

_That was actually a compliment. This is surreal. _Hermione attempted to gather her scrambled thoughts. "And if they were to find out?"

He tensed. Only slightly, but it was noticeable. An edge of wariness crept into his black eyes as he answered cautiously, "That would be bad."

She smiled slowly up at him. "Well then, Severus. You had best make it worth my while to keep silent, hadn't you?"

He relaxed fractionally at her tone, but his eyes remained guarded. "What did you have in mind?"

"A bargain, something a Slytherin can appreciate. Silence in exchange for knowledge and privacy."

"Go on."

"Ensure that my rooms are private, and teach me the secrets of Hogwarts, and I'll keep your secrets."

He relaxed a little more and considered her offer, his eyes half-hooded. "Brave little Gryffindor, to attempt to bargain with a Slytherin," he murmured. "Very well. You have a deal."

* * *

The following Saturday, Hermione had no real work to do, and went looking for Severus. She had expected him to be in his laboratory working, but there was no sign of him; he wasn't on the Marauder's Map, either, which meant he was either in one of the secret areas the Marauders had never found, or he was out in the grounds, or he wasn't in Hogwarts at all. She chose to search the grounds, on the basis that of her three options that was the only one where she stood a chance of finding him.

His location, when she finally found him, came as a surprise – she found him sitting on a fallen tree beside Dumbledore's tomb, staring up at the expanse of white marble with no real expression on his face. She sat beside him without saying anything, huddling into her robe against the cold, and after a long time he observed quietly, "I've never been here before. I couldn't make myself come here, in that final year. I've never seen it."

"There's an obelisk on the far side, carved with all the names of the Order," she replied softly.

"I saw it." His own name wasn't there, a fact that she was certain he had noticed. She studied the expression on his face, trying without success to read the nameless emotions in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking as he stared at his master's tomb.

"What he asked of you was unfair," she said finally.

"You don't know everything he asked of me, or you wouldn't say something so trite," he replied with no real malice behind the words, but rather with a cold, tired and grim certainty that made her shiver and conclude that she probably didn't want to know what he meant. He added softly, "_Ab amicis honesta petamus._"

"What does that mean?"

"'One should only ask from a friend what he is capable of.' Not that Dumbledore and I were ever truly friends."

Her Gryffindor courage failed her and she shied away from the subject to approach the real reason she had come to find him. "I expected you to be working in your lab." He shrugged slightly in reply, and after a moment she continued slowly, "In fact, you don't seem to be doing much work at all..." He didn't react in any way; that in itself was a confirmation, but she wanted to hear it from him. "Severus, is it possible that the problem with your health is not as serious as you led me to believe?"

After a long pause, he nodded once, a stiff jerk of his head. His eyes were dull.

"Why did you lie to me?" she asked, a little surprised that it hurt.

"You cannot possibly be surprised that I did," he said sarcastically, but his heart obviously wasn't in it. After a moment he said flatly, "You would not have helped me if you didn't feel guilt and a sense of obligation."

"Yes, I would. All you had to do was ask."

He snorted. "Even if I believed you, I had no way of knowing that," he pointed out with bleak and flawless logic. "You hated me as a child, deservedly so perhaps. You hated me even more during the war, with less cause. You hated me afterwards despite knowing the truth. How was I to know that two or three short meetings would have been enough to change that?" His tone was heavy with scepticism, and he clearly didn't believe it. "I played on your emotions because I saw no other way to persuade you to help me."

"No," she snapped at him, irrationally angry. "You did it because that's the way you always act. You're incapable of simply being honest."

"Perhaps," he replied indifferently, still staring at the white marble of Dumbledore's tomb. His lack of response only made her angrier.

"So what was the _real _reason, then? You at least owe me that much!"

"I _owe _you nothing," he hissed. "I paid all my debts long ago, as best I could."

"No, Snape, you didn't. I risked a great deal to bring you here. I could have lost my job and my friends. And you lied to me to make me do it. You owe me an explanation, if nothing else."

He shivered, a gesture that had little if anything to do with the temperature, rubbing restlessly at his arm. The bleak dullness in his eyes had become more pronounced until their black depths were utterly lifeless, reflecting the stark whiteness of the tomb in front of him. Finally he said heavily, "There was no reason. No grand plot, no quest, no ulterior motive. I just wanted to come home."

Whatever answer she had been expecting, that wasn't it. She stared at him in disbelief. "And that's _it_?" she asked as sarcastically as she could manage.

"That's it," he replied tiredly. "Is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes," she said bluntly. "You _always _have an ulterior motive. You've never done anything simply for its own sake in your life. And you've lied so often that nobody can tell when you're being truthful."

He looked at her with a resigned expression, as though he had expected this reaction all along, then shrugged slightly and turned back to the memorial.

"Damnit, Snape, don't you even care? Doesn't it bother you at all, what you do to people?" There was a part of her that wanted to provoke his temper, that wanted him to argue and fight back, so that they could scream at one another and thus vent some emotions; this bleak acceptance was troubling her and making it difficult to stay angry.

"Whatever answer I give, you will believe what you wish to believe and nothing more." She got the feeling that he wasn't just answering her question but speaking of something else entirely. Slowly he levered himself to his feet and brushed the snow from his robes, avoiding her eyes. Turning away, he paused, his eyes on the ground, and when it came his voice was so quiet that she barely heard him.

"For what it's worth... I am sorry." Then he was gone, limping away into the trees.

* * *

_I just wanted to come home._

Surely it wasn't so hard to believe? Misanthrope he might be, but he could still feel lonely, and he'd been alone for so long. The snowy forest turned into a black and white blur as he stumbled through the trees. Ten years, ten desperately long years when he had scarcely spoken to anyone, when he had avoided all forms of contact; and long before that, really. He'd been alone for most of his life. He knew more than Luna about the psychology of touch; he had known what the isolation was doing to him; but he had been too afraid and too ashamed to try and return or to try and form new connections.

Three years ago he had given up and returned to Britain, reasoning that being in his native land once more might help him feel less alone – he knew the customs, knew the language, knew the geography. And it had worked, for a little while, but in the end it had made the loneliness worse – to be so close, and yet so far away. Finally he had assessed the broken shell of his life and he had decided that his sanity could endure no more, and decided to return to the world he had left behind and put an end to his exile. Even if they killed him for his past crimes, or sent him to Azkaban – death would almost be a kindness, and he would lose his mind one way or another anyway if this continued so the Dementors might as well take it. It was that or suicide, and he had concluded that the small chance of returning to some sort of familiarity in his own world was worth the risk. He could always kill himself later if things didn't go according to plan.

Not that it was much of a plan, he had to admit. He'd simply found somewhere more public and easily traced to park his caravan and started to wander around Muggle London with the vague idea that sooner or later someone would recognise him, or think they had, and start digging. It was just sheer bad luck that the person who found him was one of the Golden Trio; still, she had been better than Potter or Weasley, who would have hexed him on sight.

Perhaps he shouldn't have lied to her. Then again, he hadn't technically lied; all the symptoms he had described were real, and so were the attacks. He simply hadn't corrected her assumption of the severity. And he _had _needed the lab to create a treatment. Still, there might have been another way... but he couldn't have known that. Why would anyone have helped him willingly? He had never intended to tell the simple truth to whoever found him. Nobody would have believed he just wanted to come home, and nobody would have been willing to help him just for that.

She had surpassed all his wildest dreams. Not only had she found a place in the wizarding world for him, but she had brought him home; more than that, she had showed him a glimpse of friendship. Turning, he looked at the castle visible above the trees. She was right, he owed her a great deal, but not for the reasons she believed. There was no way he could repay this debt. She had helped him return to the only home he had ever really known, and she had done so for a lie.

He wasn't sure what he had been trying to apologise for. Years of cruelty to a frightened girl, perhaps, or years of tormenting others like her. This latest lie amongst thousands of others. The mistake he had made so many years ago that had made an infant boy into a target and made the resulting war so much worse. All his failures, all his shortcomings.

_There's too much to apologise for. It will never be enough._

He didn't even feel it when he started to weep. Even when the tears froze on his cheeks, he didn't realise. He had been so hurt for so long that he could no longer tell when the pain grew too much to bear.

* * *

Hermione had spent the rest of the day in a towering fury, venting her feelings in a long and angry letter to Luna that she had regretted as soon as she had sent it. No matter how angry she was with him, she could understand his reasoning, and she had seen the pain on his face when he had left. Finally, after a storm of weeping that left her feeling exhausted, she had curled up with Crookshanks to watch the Marauder's Map; he hadn't returned to the castle when she finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.

When she woke on Sunday she checked the Map again and found that he was at last back; in the staff room rather than his own rooms, which was surprising. Crookshanks gave her a reproachful look when she got up, and jumped lightly onto her desk to paw at a sliver of parchment which turned out to be Luna's reply.

_Are you angry with him, or with yourself?_

"Shut up, Ravenclaw," she muttered resignedly, feeling a little ashamed this morning. Scribbling an apologetic response, she took a shower and was feeling more like herself when she entered the staff room and settled down with a pile of essays in need of marking.

Severus looked terrible, she noticed in the few moments when she risked glancing at him. His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken. He was apparently engrossed in the newspaper, but it didn't take long for her to realise that he had yet to turn a page; it wasn't long before she caught him glancing uneasily at her. Clearly he felt as uncomfortable about the argument as she did; perversely, that made her feel better. If they both wanted to make amends, there might be a way out.

That afternoon they were alone in the staff room. Making herself a cup of coffee, Hermione paused and eyed him consideringly, debating whether or not to make the first move; she doubted he would do so. She found her eye drawn to the high neck of his robe, and for a moment couldn't understand why until she saw the outline of the knotted cord just visible under the cloth. He was wearing the necklace she had given him for his birthday. Making up her mind swiftly, she poured him a cup of coffee as well and put it next to him on the way back to her seat, saying nothing; she could feel his eyes on her, although when she looked up at him he was staring at the newspaper once more.

When his voice broke the silence some time later, it startled her. "I believe you wished to see some of the secrets of Hogwarts," he said softly, not looking at her. "If you are free when your marking is complete, we could perhaps make a start..." It was a peace offering, of sorts, although not quite an apology, and she took it.

"I would like that, Severus."

* * *

True to his word, he began to show her a side of Hogwarts that she had never known existed. It seemed almost as if there was a secret passage inside every wall; far more than the Marauders or the Weasley twins had ever known about. There were hidden rooms everywhere, and concealed places that seemed more like spy holes than anything else; he seemed amused when she told him that.

"Naturally. Did you never wonder how Dumbledore always seemed to know everything that occurred?"

She made a face. "Spying is such a prosaic explanation. It takes all the mystery away."

"As I said before, most things lose their mystery when you look closer."

"Surely some things really are as romantic as they seem," she challenged idly, not really believing it herself but enjoying the argument nonetheless. It was late one Friday evening and they were in his living room by the warmth of the fire as a storm raged outside.

"Such as?"

"Your bathroom," she suggested impulsively, recalling vividly how stunned she had been the first time she'd seen it. The sheer decadence was surprising.

"I'm afraid not," he drawled. "Practical reasons again. There were times when I was too badly injured to have been able to climb in and out of a normal tub, so it's sunken, and it's black because there were times when light hurt my eyes and because the blood didn't show so much, and it's marble because marble stays cold easily and that is one of the ways of treating the Cruciatus. Horace chose not to change it, and I can't be bothered. I only use the shower anyway these days."

"Another myth ruined," Hermione observed mournfully. "And here was I thinking that you had a softer side." She wouldn't be able to look at the room in the same way again now, picturing him alone and hurt.

"My apologies for destroying your illusions."

"Really, Severus, for such an accomplished liar, you're absolutely terrible at sounding sincere," she told him dryly, and saw the answering gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Speaking of romantic notions..."

"Which we weren't."

"I was. Don't interrupt. I'm trying to give you a warning."

"About what?"

"It's Valentine's Day on Monday."

"And...?"

"Minerva is worse than Albus ever was."

Something like horror crossed his face. "You can't be serious. The woman is about as sentimental as... well, as I am. She used to argue with Dumbledore every year about it. She very nearly strangled Lockhart after what he did." He shuddered at the memory and added, "She would have had to get in line."

"I am amazed you let him survive the year," she agreed, remembering the absolutely murderous expression the Potions master had worn that morning as Lockhart babbled about love potions.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling nastily. "Maybe I just didn't want to make so many adolescent girls cry simultaneously," he suggested pointedly. "Including yourself, I seem to recall."

Hermione felt herself blush crimson. "I didn't realise you knew about that..."

"It was hardly difficult to figure out," he said dryly. "If you insist on drawing hearts on your timetable, it is not wise to leave said timetable out on your desk in a lesson where the teacher walks around looking at his students' desks. In any case, Lockhart kept prattling on about all the people who had sent him Valentines. The only reason I didn't hit him with a Silencing charm – or something worse – is that Dumbledore made me promise not to use magic against him under any circumstances."

"What about the Duelling Club?" she asked, eager to change the subject away from her childhood infatuation. _I was twelve! Well, thirteen._

He smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Once he asked for aid, Dumbledore somewhat unwisely decided it would be amusing to force me to do so, and graciously volunteered me for the task. Lockhart should be very grateful that I chose to humiliate him rather than curse him."

_Yes, he should have been, _Hermione decided. It had been something of a shock to see that side of Severus; devoid of his billowing robes, he had been lean and powerful and dangerous. She had only been a girl then, but sixteen years later she still had yet to see a wizard who could match his reflexes in a duel. It had definitely made an impression.

"What happened to McGonagall to make her change her mind?" he asked, returning to the original topic.

"Truthfully, I think it's because she misses Albus," she replied a little uncertainly. She had always wondered about the two of them.

He snorted. "Perhaps."

"Was there anything between them?"

"No." He suddenly looked amused, as though at some private joke. "Let us say... she wasn't precisely his type..."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was getting better at reading her companion's moods, and his expression showed that there was a lot more to this than he was saying. "Was someone else more his type?"

"Nobody you knew. Nobody I knew, come to that; it was long over before I came to Hogwarts. Not that I think that would have made a difference, had he met someone he liked; he simply never did, as far as I know."

"You're speaking in riddles again, Severus."

"I enjoy irritating you," he replied with a straight face.

"You're very good at it," she grumbled. "Will you tell me?"

He hesitated, evidently thinking hard. Finally he exhaled and closed his eyes. "Frankly I'm amazed nobody ever guessed," he muttered. "Once I found out, it seemed so blatantly obvious I couldn't imagine how I missed it."

"Severus," she snapped, exasperated. "Either tell me or don't; just stop _hinting._"

"Fine," he replied, amusement in his voice. "Since you ask so nicely... Dumbledore was a homosexual."

Hermione stared at him for a long time. "How do you know?" she managed finally, her voice hoarse.

"Occlumency practice," he replied laconically, his eyes still closed. "I taught myself, but once I became his spy he tested me from time to time, and occasionally I saw more than he wished me to."

"And... you're sure?"

"Oh, yes. He was as bent as a ha'penny spoon," he said almost cheerfully.

"What a charming phrase," she muttered.

"It shouldn't be _that _much of a surprise... Have you ever seen a straight man wear anything with purple sequins on it?" he asked mildly, opening his eyes. "Besides, bisexuality is far more common in the wizarding world than amongst Muggles, and thus, so is homosexuality."

Her mind promptly went down an unpleasant new route, and in fascinated horror she asked uneasily, "Are you..." _Oh, God. I've just asked Severus Snape if he swings both ways. I didn't know I had a death wish._

His expression clouded over, but he didn't seem angry as such, and even answered her, choosing his words delicately and with some care. "I have been, in the past, but... not willingly."

She considered this and felt sick. He had hinted at it before, once or twice, implying that certain punishments amongst the Death Eaters could be sexual, non-consensual and violent, but he had never said so openly and clearly didn't want to do so now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business anyway."

"I did bring the subject up," he replied. She could see his relief that she hadn't questioned any further, and that in itself raised a new question.

"Why do you answer when I ask personal questions, Severus? You obviously don't want to talk about things like that, so why don't you just refuse? You always used to."

About to answer, he paused and frowned, his dark eyes turning distant. Finally he answered very slowly, "I don't know." There was nothing to betray him in his words, his tone, his expression or his body language, but Hermione was suddenly certain that he was lying.

* * *

They both survived Valentine's Day more or less intact; Minerva seemed a little more restrained this year. Hermione wasn't sure how Severus had reacted, since he had refused to leave the dungeons all day. She did notice when she dropped by for a visit that his rooms were devoid of the suspicious faint tinge of pink that had stained the rest of the castle's walls all day, but he only laughed when she asked him to remove it from her rooms as well. It was nice to see him laughing, she supposed, but she wasn't a _pink _sort of person any more than he was – well, okay, maybe not quite that bad.

A shift in the weather near the end of February marked the start of Quidditch for the year. To the eternal despair of both Harry and Ron, she had never learned any particular appreciation for the sport; it caught her by surprise when she sought refuge in Severus' rooms and found him getting ready to go outside and watch the match.

"Slytherin are playing," he pointed out in response to her questioning look. "As their Head of House, I need to be there."

"Horace never bothered."

"That is why I need to be there," he replied quietly, picking up his gloves. "Are you coming?"

"I might as well," she decided, hastily Transfiguring herself some more suitable outdoor clothing and following him outside. As they picked their way carefully down the path towards the pitch – his limp seemed worse in this cold weather – she asked, "So you don't follow Quidditch for its own sake?"

"No. I can play – I refereed a match in your first year, if you remember – but I was never a fanatic about it."

"Did you ever play for Slytherin?"

His lips twisted into a thin, humourless smile. "No."

That smile meant there was more to the story, she had learned. "Why not?"

"Because unaccountably there was a strange accident on the one occasion that I tried out for the team," he replied in a bored tone of voice. "When I woke up in the hospital wing a day and a half later with a cracked skull, I decided that the sport was not for me."

Frowning slightly, Hermione processed this, trying to find the hidden meaning in his words. Sometimes talking to Severus was a little like speaking a foreign language; you had to really concentrate. "...The Marauders?" she concluded finally, looking up at him unhappily.

"Almost certainly. Naturally, no proof of wrongdoing was found – possibly because nobody actually looked for it." He shrugged a shoulder. "Truthfully, I only tried out to try and improve my standing with my House; I was never particularly bothered about not making the team, and I couldn't have afforded a decent broom anyway."

Steering the conversation away from the awkward subject as they took their seats in the staff section, she asked, "What position did you play?"

"Chaser," he replied absently; he seemed to be thinking about something else. Hermione couldn't really think of anything else to ask; she barely remembered what a Chaser was. In any case, silence with Severus was usually quite peaceful these days, and whatever it was he was brooding about didn't seem to be making him too depressed or angry, so she left him to his thoughts and attempted to follow the match.

The commentator was certainly no match for Luna Lovegood, and wasn't on a par with Lee Jordan either, but she managed to keep up with what was going on. Ravenclaw beat Slytherin, much as expected, but there was only ten points in it and Severus seemed reasonably pleased with the result.

"May I congratulate you, Professor Granger?" he murmured as they walked back towards the castle.

She frowned at him. "What for?"

"You didn't set fire to anyone."

Hermione looked at him sharply. He was apparently concentrating on the treacherous footing, his expression carefully blank, but there was a hint of humour in his black eyes. "You knew it was me all along?"

"Not quite," he conceded, smiling ruefully. "I had seen you using the same fire before, to keep warm; I vaguely recognised it and I eventually added two and two."

"You didn't say anything."

"I had no proof, and I very much doubt anyone would have wished you punished for it – rewarded, perhaps. In any case, I understood why you did it – you believed you were saving Potter's life. I suppose in a twisted way, you were, since you broke Quirrell's concentration as well as my own."

"That's a very forgiving attitude for you..."

He snorted, skirting a particularly slippery stretch of the path with care for his bad leg. "With everything else I had to worry about, a minor burn and a scorched robe were the very least of my problems. I didn't consider it worth dwelling on."

"And once again you manage to deflate my ego. I'll have no sense of self worth left if I keep talking to you."

"It would take far more than my feeble efforts to dent your self confidence, Hermione, I am sure," he replied dryly as they entered the castle. "You have come a very long way from the frightened eleven year old who was stupid enough to almost be killed by a troll because she was crying in the bathroom over what a moronic boy thought of her."

She shook her head in rueful amazement, knowing better than to ask how he'd found out the truth of that incident. "You can twist a compliment into an insult better than any Slytherin I have ever met, Severus."

"Thank you," he answered with a mocking half-bow as he turned away towards the dungeons.

_

* * *

Things are ticking along nicely. Next chapter may not be up until Sunday, I'm not sure yet.  
_


	11. Chapter 11

_Quite a bit happens in this one... the plot thickening again...  


* * *

_

**"****You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough.****"**  
– Frank Cane.

* * *

A cold February evening brought the event Severus had been dreading. It happened with almost frightening suddenness; the only warning he had was a slight headache, and as he crossed his dimly lit living room in search of a suitably mild painkilling potion his vision suddenly blurred and went dark as a vicious spasm of agony shot through his bad knee. The leg buckled beneath him and he fell heavily with a startled oath that became a grunt of pain as the damaged joint collided painfully with the unyielding stone floor.

When the pain of the impact lessened, he tried to sit up carefully, and the muscles of his left arm began to jerk and twitch in a horribly familiar manner that neatly prevented his attempts to push himself upright. Cursing softly, he took inventory; right leg very painful, left arm not functioning. He wasn't going to be able to stand up for a while yet.

_Better now than in the middle of a lesson, _he told himself resignedly, stretching out on the floor where he had fallen and preparing to wait it out. How the brats would have stared if the disliked Potions master had collapsed in front of them – but if that was going to happen, surely it would have occurred during the war; he'd come close on several occasions. Once he had a sufficient number of functional limbs, he could get to the bathroom; until then, there was nothing he could do except wait. Another tremor shook him hard enough that his teeth rattled, and he clenched his jaw to try and stop himself accidentally biting his tongue. Black spots danced across his vision; he hadn't had an attack this bad in more than a year.

It probably served him right, he considered as the pain increased. If he'd made more of an effort with his research, he might have made a cure by now. Well, he could learn from his mistakes; tomorrow he would start work in earnest. He might even let Granger help as he knew she wanted to. The next tremor was more of a convulsion, and he realised that he would actually be spending tomorrow lying very quietly in a darkened room unless he managed to do something about it quickly.

Another convulsive spasm shook him, hard enough that he hit his head painfully against the stone floor, and a shiver of nervous unease slid down his spine. An attack this bad could disable him for a week unless he got help, but... The fireplace was too far away, and there were no portraits in his rooms, and there was no chance of his being able to summon his Patronus in this state. That severely limited his options.

In fact, he could only think of one possible source of help, who probably wasn't in earshot anyway.

"Crookshanks..." he hissed weakly, trying to lift his head. It was actually a bloody stupid name for a cat, really, when you thought about it. "You moth-eaten furball... are you skulking around in here again...?" Oh, Merlin, this _hurt. _"...Crookshanks?"

* * *

Hermione was a little surprised at her own detachment as she knelt by her colleague. She wasn't sure if he was conscious, but the spasms shaking his body made it obvious what was happening to him. "Severus?" she asked softly. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered; he had surprisingly long eyelashes for a man, she noted dispassionately, or maybe it was just that they stood out vividly against his bloodlessly pale skin. He opened bloodshot and slightly unfocused eyes and blinked at her. "Yes, Granger," he replied hoarsely, shivering.

"Good. I need you to tell me how to treat this. I don't know what you usually do."

"Potion," he croaked. "Blue one... the one I gave you. Tall cupboard. Top shelf." His speech was a little slurred, but he seemed cognizant of his surroundings, which was a relief. She didn't much fancy trying to treat the attack on the fly; she didn't even know where to start. Fetching the bottle, she held it where he could see it, and he nodded.

"How much?"

"All," he rasped. Given the small doses he'd told her to take, that seemed a lot, but she didn't try to argue. Uncorking the bottle, she slid an arm beneath his shoulders and helped him lift his head, tilting the bottle to his lips. He got most of it down, but another spasm shook him and the rest spilled onto his clothes. After a few minutes the convulsions had slowed and seemed less severe, but she could tell by his breathing that he was still in pain.

"What now?"

"Bath. Cold water. _Don't _levitate," he added as she reached for her wand. Puzzled, Hermione put it back into the pocket of her robe and began trying to get his arm over her shoulders, bracing herself as she tried to help him stand.

"Wouldn't warm water feel better?"

"Yes. But wouldn't help." He grunted with effort and staggered more or less upright, leaning on her heavily. "Cold to stop it. Then warm later."

It seemed to take a very long time to get to the bathroom. Hermione found that Crookshanks had gone on ahead; she hadn't realised the cat could turn taps before, but the huge tub was already half-filled. Severus huffed out a breath in what might have been a laugh at the sight before hissing in pain and stumbling; she barely caught herself against the wall.

"Try not to do that again," she told him. "You're too tall for me to catch you." He ignored her, sinking to the floor and shivering. Once the tub was filled, Crookshanks pawed at the tap and shut it off before looking at her expectantly; Hermione looked down at the semiconscious man and felt annoyed with herself when she started to blush. "Um, Severus...?"

"What?"

"The bath is ready. But... your clothes..."

He mumbled something that sounded like a slurred, "Bloody Gryffindors," before looking at her as best he could. "Boots and coat. The rest... doesn't matter."

Okay. She could cope with that. Stupid to be worrying about it, really, but nothing in her life to date had prepared her for the surreal experience of partially stripping her former Potions teacher. Once he had emptied his pockets and was down to trousers and shirt, and after another particularly nasty convulsion that resulted in her narrowly avoiding being hit in the face, he half-crawled to the sunken tub and virtually fell into it with a gasp at the cold. "What else do I need to do?" she asked uncertainly. He had closed his eyes, his head resting on the edge of the bath.

"Try not to... let me drown," he replied with a weak attempt at sarcasm.

"Should I get Poppy?"

"_No._" The slurred vehemence of the reply was unmistakeable. Sighing, she didn't argue, settling down by the edge of the tub and staying close enough to grab his hair or something if he went under.

"How long will this take?"

"Don't know." He opened one eye, looked at her, then closed it again. "S-somewhere else to be?"

"Depressing as my social life is, Severus, I _can _think of better things to do," she replied wryly, studying him. The cold seemed to be working; it was making him shiver uncontrollably, but he didn't seem to be twitching so much. "Why did you stop me levitating you?" she asked curiously, reasoning that if he was talking then he was still conscious.

"Thought it would be funny to... make you c-carry me."

"You can't lie properly when you're like this."

"Levitation... makes it worse. Don't know why. F-found out the hard way, a few times. Poppy used to help t-treat me."

"So why won't you let me call her now? She must know more about it than I do."

"No. She knows... the direct after-effects of the c-curse. Not whatever this is. By the time this st-started, I was... the enemy. Nobody else knows about this." His speech was evening out, less slurred and disjointed, although the cold was making his teeth chatter. "That's why I c-called you. You already know it. I'm not letting anything new slip."

"And Crookshanks was in your rooms."

"That too," he agreed, shivering.

"Is it easing?"

"Yes." He breathed out slowly. "The t-tremors are stopping."

"What do I do when they stop?"

"Warm the water up slowly, to j-just under blood heat. That helps with the p-pain."

"Would a painkilling potion help?"

"No. Well, it would ease the p-pain, but it would also react with the potion I've already t-taken and make me violently ill." He smiled faintly. "I learned _that _the hard way, t-too."

"How did you do this when you were by yourself?"

"I didn't," he replied laconically. "You've s-seen the bathroom in the caravan. I generally s-stayed wherever I c-collapsed, until it had eased enough for me to be able to s-stand under the shower. It took days, sometimes."

"God, Severus." She shook her head and stopped asking questions; she had a feeling she wouldn't like any of the answers. Whatever his reasons for being so honest with her, she sometimes wished he wouldn't. After a while he seemed to have stopped twitching and was just shivering; she began to slowly warm the water, and gradually the shivering stopped as well, his face relaxing. "Better?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he sighed. After a moment he added quietly, "My apologies for interrupting your evening."

"You can be infuriating at times, and you're still a snarky git, but you're my friend and I'm not going to leave you in pain," she told him matter-of-factly. "Even if you deserve it."

He huffed a quiet laugh, his lips twitching, but didn't answer. After a while he lifted his head and gingerly sat up. "Enough. I'll fall asleep and drown if I don't move soon." He seemed recovered enough to stand unaided and drag himself out of the tub; Hermione was getting tired by now – hardly surprising since it was gone two in the morning by this point – and limited herself to a simple drying charm before helping him limp to his bedroom, where he crawled under the covers and collapsed.

"Do you want me to cover any classes tomorrow?"

"No," he mumbled drowsily. "I've nothing until the afternoon. I'll be all right by then."

"All right. I'll let you get some sleep."

She was almost out of the room when he called softly, "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Severus."

* * *

It wasn't until she was curled up in her own bed with a purring Crookshanks and was right on the edge of sleep herself that Hermione realised that when Severus had stepped out of the tub, with water streaming off him and making his clothes _cling _to him and his hair likewise clinging to his face... he'd actually looked extremely good for his age. Not bad for any age, come to that.

_I really do need some kind of social life.

* * *

_Despite her resolve to 'avoid turning it into a tragedy', the first thing Hermione said to him when she saw him the following evening was, "Are you all right?" and as soon as she had said it, she felt stupid.

He seemed more amused than anything else, no doubt because he had seen the edge of self-directed annoyance in her face. "Yes," he replied noncommittally. "In fact, last night was... useful."

"How so?"

"Talking you through the attack made me pay more attention to the symptoms. I know what sort of healing potion I need to make now – or, rather, what existing potions I need to combine."

"Can't you just take the different types?"

"What on earth did Horace teach you for your NEWTs?" he muttered. "My final-year syllabus dedicates a full term to healing potions alone. No, I can't. They would react with one another, making them ineffective at best and toxic at worst."

"Then how do you combine them?"

"Slowly," he replied wryly. "It involves breaking each potion down into its component parts and isolating the active ingredients that are needed, discarding the ones that are unnecessary, then working out possible combinations and whether any additional ingredients or processes are needed. Once that is done, much of the rest of the procedure is trial and error. It takes a very long time to achieve a reliable combination, which is why so many treatments rely on generic potions rather than more specifically targeted remedies."

"So which potions do you need to combine to treat... whatever it is you have?"

"A standard Nerve Tonic, a more specific potion that aids myelin regeneration, and an anti-inflammatory."

That really was going to be a tremendous amount of work, and she knew it would be beyond her capabilities – annoying as it was to admit it, even only to herself; she certainly didn't intend confessing it to him. "A myelin-regeneration potion? I've never heard of anything like that."

"You wouldn't have done," he replied sarcastically, "as it doesn't actually exist. That is another reason why this is going to take some time."

"You're going to invent a potion and combine it with two others. Well, I suppose things like that are how you got your Mastery," she muttered. "Am I going to be able to help at all?"

"I don't know," Severus replied frankly. "You don't have the – the _instinct _for potion making."

"Thanks," she replied flatly.

He sighed. "It wasn't an insult, merely the truth. I am glad I did not teach you during your NEWTs – neither of us would have enjoyed the experience. You found the subject more difficult under Horace; you would have struggled far more had I been your teacher then. You achieved excellent grades up to your OWLs solely because you possess an excellent memory and the ability to follow instructions accurately, but you never had the... the deeper understanding of _why_ or _how _a particular thing worked, the spontaneity needed to create something different." He looked at her. "It is one reason I marked your work so harshly and why I tried to avoid letting you answer a question in class."

"I don't understand."

"I was trying to make you _think._ If all I wanted was an answer regurgitated directly from the textbook, I could have asked anyone. Even the real imbeciles could read and repeat, at least most of the time. You were the brightest student in the class, with absolutely no competition – you should have left them in the dust, and instead you fed me back the same answers they did." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it was? For the first time in years I had a student with real intelligence, and you weren't _using _it."

"Do_ you_ have any idea how many hours I spent on those damned essays?" she snapped.

"Hours in the library looking up what other people had already discovered," he snapped back at her, "and giving me other people's research, which half the time was only vaguely relevant to the original topic. Had you spent less time memorising your textbook and more time trying to understand the principles involved – had you been able to give me something original, even if it was wrong – I would have been far more impressed."

"Nothing I did would ever have impressed you."

"You have no idea how wrong you are," he replied quietly. "I have been a teacher since I was twenty. In all that time, I have had less than half a dozen students with any real, genuine aptitude for my subject. It is incredibly disheartening to have to struggle and fight to get a class through their exams, knowing that they will never actually achieve anything beyond a passing grade. None of my students have ever gone on to Master-level. Most of them weren't capable of it, and the few who could have really done something amazing weren't interested. Like you."

"I was interested!" she protested, less angry now in the face of this more wistful mood. "I _liked _Potions – I'd have liked it more if you weren't such a bastard to me and my friends."

"You know why I was."

"Most of it, yes. But sometimes, Severus, you were just plain... cruel. For absolutely no reason."

He started to protest, then closed his mouth with an audible snap. "You are referring to when Malfoy hexed your teeth."

"Not that alone, but that was certainly the most memorable occasion," she replied quietly, a little surprised that he had remembered it. "I never liked you much, Severus, but I _did _respect you, and I never hated you – until you said that."

There was a long silence. Severus avoided her eyes, and finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I don't blame you. It was cruel, vicious and unjustified, and I assure you I regretted saying it – not that I expect that to be much comfort. I am genuinely sorry."

"It wasn't even what you said that upset me, not really," she responded more softly, calming down a little in the face of the unexpected apology. "I just didn't understand why you would say something just to hurt me. You'd never even been that hateful to Harry, let alone anyone else."

"You're right," he replied calmly. "It was inexcusable."

"Why _did _you say it?"

"Not because I believed it. I was hardly in a position to make fun of anyone's teeth, was I? I'm still not, come to that. Truthfully, it wasn't about you at all. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse. I was... it was just days after Potter's name came out of the Goblet. Dumbledore and I were the only ones who knew what it meant. The Mark had started to darken; I knew _he _would be returning, and what it would mean. That lesson... I had just come from yet another pointless meeting with Dumbledore. I was sick of his empty platitudes and his attempts to cheer me up and reassure me, as if he could. I had absolutely no patience for your childish, petty squabbles when the world might well have literally been coming to an end, and I lashed out with the most hateful comment I could think of at the first available target. Unfortunately it was you who paid the price for my temper on that occasion; you were neither the first nor the last."

Hermione felt very stupid. She had spent so long obsessing over that incident, and never once had the timing occurred to her; she'd just assumed that it had been personal. "Oh," she replied in a small voice. "I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"Because I was a complete and utter bastard so often that I scarcely needed a reason to be spiteful," he answered quietly. She wanted to deny that and tell him that he hadn't been, but she couldn't make herself say it. He _had _been spiteful.

A brief, brittle half-smile crossed his face; she suspected it was because he was pleased that she hadn't tried to lie to him. "We seem to have wandered far afield from the original topic," he observed. "Had I been less... less like myself, if I am honest... and behaved better towards you, it would not have made you a Potions prodigy. The subject was not for you. It took me some time to accept that, but I did, eventually. Your true interests lay elsewhere; _liking _the subject isn't enough."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed. Now that they had both calmed down, she knew he was right – she had never really considered spending the rest of her life working with potions. "So, back to my original question – will I be able to help you?"

"If you still wish to, yes; probably not with the analysis and speculation, but certainly with the mundane work involved, and perhaps with brewing the final potion once I've worked out how to do it. It won't be interesting," he warned.

"That's not why I'm doing it," she replied, and he looked at her sharply before finding something to look at to one side, his fingers twitching restlessly.

"I intend to start this weekend," he said finally. "It is a Hogsmeade weekend, so the students will be out of the way, and I should have caught up on my paperwork by then."

She heard the unvoiced question – _I'm getting better at translating Severus-speak – _and answered it. "I'm free all weekend."

"Very well. And it will not take as long as you think – I hope to have something concrete by Easter."

"Just under two months, to do all that?"

"Healing potions are quick to brew – this isn't Polyjuice that has to sit for a month. And as you said, it is one of the reasons I attained my Mastery," he replied with the faintest hint of a smirk.

* * *

That Saturday, Hermione let herself into his rooms (the current password was "Iscariot"; she wondered just how many passwords he could come up with that were related to betrayal and double-crossing) and followed the distant music down to the laboratory. Meat Loaf, today, which made her smile as she hummed along. Entering the lab, she stopped humming abruptly and stared. "Good God, Severus."

"Hello to you too," he replied vaguely, not looking up. He was scribbling notes on a piece of paper; the bench he was working at was literally covered in dozens of sheets of his dense, spiky handwriting. What looked like half a rainforest was spread out around him.

Of the half-dozen questions that had presented themselves, the one that made it onto her tongue was, "Why are you using Muggle paper and not parchment?"

"It's cheaper," he answered absently. "And biros don't leak or drip."

"And you can't chew on a quill so easily?" she suggested tartly, looking critically at his pen, which bore clear teeth marks.

He snorted softly in reply, entirely unrepentant. "True."

Curious, she examined some of the closer sheets. Some of his work looked like Arithmancy calculations; other parts resembled Muggle chemical equations; the rest was written notes. Circles and lines linked various parts of the page to other parts, and there was a great deal of crossing-out. "This must be what Chaos looks like."

"Don't ask me to explain. Even I don't understand it all yet. This is the literary equivalent of thinking aloud."

"What do you want me to do?"

He gestured vaguely at his laptop. "Look into methods of treating MS or other neurological damage. Beta-seron is the most common treatment I have found, but it has no magical equivalent, so I need an alternative. Try and find out exactly how they treat myelin degeneration. And don't touch the music."

"Yes, sir," she muttered, suppressing a grin as he scowled at her.

* * *

Working in the lab was surprisingly peaceful, she decided some time later. Severus didn't talk to himself constantly the way Ron did when he was trying to work something out, or huff and sigh endlessly like Harry did. Aside from the scratch of his pen, he was almost completely silent. It was nice to work with someone else who took it seriously.

It took all of her self control not to react when he started humming along to the music, though. One startled look told her that he wasn't aware that he was doing so, and she suspected he would be furious if she drew his attention to it. It was... well, in anyone else, she would have said it was adorable, but that word _so _didn't fit Severus Snape. Smothering a smile, she kept her attention focused on the keyboard, although she couldn't quite stop herself wondering what his singing voice might sound like.

* * *

He'd been right that it didn't take as long as she had thought it would, although she had overlooked his somewhat obsessive nature. He had been working every spare moment he had, including well into the night almost every night, and on a few occasions had worked straight through from early evening until his first class the next morning. Her contributions once the real analysis and preparation had started had mostly consisted of reminding him to stop long enough to eat, providing fresh paper and acting as a sounding board during the really late sessions when his concentration wavered and he needed to voice his thoughts aloud.

The myelin potion itself had been fairly simple to make. Severus had explained that he wasn't trying to make a complete potion, only a compound that would act within the triplicate potion he would be using eventually to treat himself. It didn't need to actually work, only to show that it would work when the finished product was ready. He couldn't explain how he knew when he'd got it right, on the fourth attempt at creating it; he had apparently just felt it when everything came together. Hermione supposed he'd been able to sense the latent magic in the brew and could therefore tell when it was correctly aligned, but whether it was magical ability, instinct or simply experience, she wasn't sure.

Adding the anti-inflammatory had been easy, too. He hadn't created a separate potion for it, in the end; he hadn't needed to. A few key ingredients added to the myelin potion would achieve the same effect, he assured her. The Nerve Tonic was proving more problematical – to prevent it reacting with the other potions, several key ingredients had to be removed, which would render it ineffective. The only solution was to either find adequate substitutes for those ingredients, or to find a process that would stabilise the mix. Adding an external stabiliser had weakened the potion and made it significantly less likely to work; Severus had not been happy to discover that.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking about the different properties you're trying to incorporate into this potion."

"What about it?" he asked distractedly.

"There's nothing analgesic in here. No painkiller."

"I know."

"Why? Nerve Tonic was _designed _to work in conjunction with painkillers. Why leave it out?"

"Because the tonic and painkiller combination works by temporarily deadening the nerves, almost holding the nervous system in stasis while the tonic acts. That's fine with an experienced Healer standing by, running diagnostics and homeostatic charms to keep everything functioning throughout; it won't work for this. I need to be able to tell that it's working, and the nerves themselves need to be working or the new myelin will be rejected – a bit like an organ transplant."

Hermione winced. "So you're going to drink something that's basically going to be scraping all your nerves raw. Without painkillers."

"Yes," he replied quietly. "That's why I'm pushing so hard. If I can get this done by Easter, I can take it at the start of the holiday, and have a couple of weeks to recover. Otherwise it will have to wait for the summer. I doubt I will be fit to teach in the immediate aftermath."

"Is there nothing you can add to help?" she asked.

"Unfortunately not. Anything strong enough to be of any real use would prevent the potion from working properly, if it didn't simply make me ill. Anything less potent would be pointless – about as much use as taking an aspirin for the Cruciatus."

A depressingly accurate metaphor, she suspected. This potion was going to _feel _like the Cruciatus. "How long will it take to work?"

"I don't know. Not that long. Nervous impulses take fractions of a second to travel. Repairing the nerves is far more complex, naturally, but it shouldn't be too long. An hour or two at most, I would hope."

"Bloody hell, Severus, that long? It'll kill you long before your nerves are repaired!"

He looked up from his notes and gave her a bleak, brittle half-smile. "If wishing made it so," he said, so softly that she barely heard him.

"I don't understand..."

"I have an extremely high pain threshold, Hermione. I assure you, I have survived far worse than an hour or two of neurological pain."

Swallowing and firmly shutting the door on her imagination, she retorted, "That doesn't mean you should go through it again. There must be another way."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you know of a way to manipulate and repair damaged nerves without stimulating them, by all means enlighten me."

"There isn't one, and you know it," she replied with a scowl. "But there must be a way to prevent you feeling that stimulation." She bit her lip, her mind racing. "Would the potion work if you were unconscious?"

He was courteous enough to at least consider the question before shaking his head. "A sedative wouldn't achieve anything, and a true anaesthetic would react enough to seriously disrupt a lot of physiological processes. My Healing abilities are chiefly limited to wounds; I can't counter something like that."

_Nor can I, _she reflected. She didn't consider suggesting they enlist a Healer; the only one Severus would even slightly trust was Madam Pomfrey, and if he had wanted her involved he would have done so already. "I could Stun you after you drink it," she suggested, half-seriously.

"That's the best offer I've had in years," he muttered, making her stare at him. She didn't think he had meant her to hear that. More loudly, he continued, "I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think it would work."

Hermione pushed the half-whispered comment to the back of her mind to think about later and focused on the conversation. "I suppose not. Is there a compromise, a way of reducing the stimulation, so it at least doesn't hurt as much?"

"Probably, but it would be very complicated to work out, and to be honest it would make little difference. Once pain reaches a certain level, it is all-encompassing, and the precise degree of pain ceases to be relevant." She opened her mouth to argue and he gave her a sharp look. "Be assured that I know what I am talking about."

She subsided, reluctantly. "Fine." Thinking it over, she frowned. "What about Muggle anaesthetics?"

"A sound idea in theory. In reality, I don't know enough about them to predict how it would affect the potion, nor do I have any idea how to obtain them. Unless you have experience with breaking into hospitals to steal, as well as Potions stores?"

"No, I –" Realising what he'd just said, she stopped talking abruptly and glared at him. He smirked at her, and she demanded in exasperation, "Do you know _everything _I did wrong during my schooldays?"

"I doubt it, but I certainly know most things," he replied smugly. "Your assault on Malfoy during your third year was inspired, by the way. He would have blocked a hex, but he could never have anticipated your punching him in the nose."

"How on earth do you know all this?"

He smiled, removing his reading glasses and absently cleaning them with the sleeve of his discarded robe. "I worked out that it had to have been you who raided the storeroom, simply because neither Potter nor Weasley were stealthy enough to have managed it..."

"How did you know it was us in the first place?"

The smile became a smirk, and he chuckled softly. "Really, Professor Granger, do use your head. Who do you think it was who brewed the antidote to your Polyjuice accident? The effects were not easy to reverse, and had I not been here you would have spent a very long time with whiskers. As for your attack on Malfoy, I saw it. I was passing a second-floor window at the time."

"And you didn't punish me for assaulting a Slytherin?"

His smile widened. "I barely restrained myself from cheering you on," he replied, apparently sincerely. "Draco was a spoiled brat. I spent years wishing that I could give him a clip 'round the ear."

Startled by the words as much as the sentiment, she stifled a giggle. "You know, it's phrases like that one that suddenly make me remember you're a northerner."

He looked at her without expression, his smile fading. Right around the point where she became afraid that she had offended him, however, he said distantly and with a straight face, "Yeah? Got a problem wit' people from up North, 'ave yer?"

"My God," she choked, staring at him in a kind of horror. "_What _was _that?_"

He chuckled roughly and replied in his normal voice. "_That _was what I would have sounded like, had my mother not been paying attention. That was the local accent, and the accent my father had. Incidentally, it is also the accent that 'Tobias Prince' has, since it provides an effective disguise."

"It's... ghastly."

"How very southern of you," he observed, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean it like that. I don't mind northern accents. But in your voice... it just sounds... _wrong._" His voice had always been his best feature, and that quiet, silken purr just didn't suit the roughened vowels and harsher consonants of the northern dialects. She couldn't have been more shocked had Crookshanks started speaking French. He chuckled again, and she shook her head. "I'm serious. That was bloody terrifying."

Severus snorted quietly. "On the whole, I am pleased my mother saw fit to make sure I did not grow up with that accent. I had enough problems as it was, without sounding like an extra from Emmerdale Farm."

"That's set in the Yorkshire Dales. Coronation Street would be more appropriate, surely – you're from Manchester, aren't you? Somewhere in Lancashire, anyway..."

He waved a hand dismissively. "You're a southerner; we all sound the same to you."

"Racist," she chided him, noting wryly and without surprise that he hadn't answered her question about where he was from.

"What, we're a different race as well now?"

"Oh, shut up. Don't you have an Unforgiveable-in-a-bottle to make?"

He wore a small smile as he turned back to his notes. Hermione found herself smiling as well; it was lovely to see another glimpse of his sense of humour, and she was pleased that he evidently felt comfortable enough around her to make jokes, even at her expense. She hadn't been kidding, though – hearing his wonderful voice suddenly distorted so badly by the thick accent had been utterly wrong.

_

* * *

If you watch Blow Dry you'll hear Alan Rickman having a go at a northern accent. He's not bad.  
_


	12. Chapter 12

_Look! More plot! I think you'll like this one...  


* * *

_

**"****The door is locked now, but it's opened if you're true**  
**If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you****.****"**  
– Metallica, 'The Unforgiven'.

* * *

At the beginning of April, just a week before the holidays, Hermione was woken in the small hours once again. Not by Crookshanks, this time, but by a voice calling her name. She opened her eyes to see green flames in the fireplace, and heard Severus calling her again, impatiently. Stifling a yawn, she slid out of bed and grabbed her robe, shivering. "I'm awake, I'm awake. What is it?"

"I... Merlin, is that what time it is? I'm sorry; this could have waited until morning."

"Well, I'm awake now – more or less. Has something happened?"

"I've finished the potion," he said without preamble.

"It's done? And it will work?"

"Yes."

"Severus, that's wonderful! I'll be down in a few minutes. I want to see it."

* * *

The potion wasn't anything like she had expected. The first few components had been based on his existing treatment, and had been a similar milky blue colour; the full potion had been simmering in a half-completed state for weeks, and had been a deep greyish-purple. Now it was a clear almost-gold with a green tint to it, looking bizarrely like a flask full of spring sunshine as she held it up. "I didn't expect it to be this colour."

"Nor did I," he replied, sounding tired but proud – justifiably so. She looked up at him and smiled, and he must really have been tired because there was nothing guarded in his expression when he smiled back at her. It transformed him completely, and for a moment she saw through the mask and the scars to the man underneath; her own smile faltered in the face of it as their eyes met. It was a strange moment of intimacy, both uncomfortable and yet not, at the same time.

They both blinked and looked away simultaneously, and Hermione returned her attention to the innocently sparkling potion in her hand, feeling oddly off balance. "Do you still plan to take it at the start of the holiday?"

"Yes." If he had been affected by the moment that had just passed, it didn't show as he continued, "I... wished to speak with you about that. I do not know just how bad the effects will be..."

It took her a moment to work out what he was really saying. "Do you want me to be there?"

"I don't want _anyone _to be there, but I feel I may need someone present, if only to record what is happening – I will hardly be in a position to be objective. It is also possible I may be at risk of injuring myself, through convulsions or something."

"Well, when you make a girl an offer like that, Severus, I don't see how I could possibly refuse," she told him sarcastically, and his lips quirked into an amused half-smile that did nothing to conceal the flicker of relief in his eyes – he had thought she would say no. Even now, he didn't trust this strange friendship that existed between them.

* * *

Returning to her own room, she found herself unable to go back to sleep, thinking about what had just happened. Sitting at her desk, she began composing a letter to Luna; it was surely highly significant that his first impulse upon completing the potion had been to tell her about it and share the triumph. But as she tried to describe that unguarded moment when he had smiled at her, Hermione faltered, and found that she didn't really want to tell anyone about it, even Luna; it had been too private, somehow. And she wasn't really sure how she felt about it.

It hadn't made him more handsome, or anything else from a bad romance novel. Severus did look far better than he had done when he had been her teacher, but that wasn't saying much. He would never be attractive. But there was a sense about him, a certain charisma that was oddly compelling when he wasn't in one of his nasty moods, and in that moment of eye contact the smile had softened his hard edges, temporarily lowered his defences, and made him seem much less remote, more human – and male. Or perhaps she had simply become more aware of it.

After a while she concluded slowly that it was at least partly because what existed between herself and Severus was an adult friendship. Her other friends were people she had known since childhood, and there was a certain innocence about that because in many ways she would always see them as eleven year olds and they saw her in the same way. Friendships developing between two adults were more complex and less innocent, especially since they were opposite genders. Technically, of course, Severus should see her first as a bushy-haired buck-toothed eleven year old girl, but she didn't get that impression; he treated her as an adult and almost as an equal.

Much of the rest of that peculiar response could be put down to sheer biology, she told herself ruefully. Severus was male, and by the standards of the wizarding world he wasn't that much older than her; he wasn't truly unattractive as such any more, she enjoyed his company, and it had been a long time since she'd even been on a date with anyone. Doubtless that explained his reaction as well – and he had reacted, she could remember now, his pupils dilating slightly and something flickering in their depths before they had both looked away.

Hopefully that was all it was. Anything else would be impossibly complicated and no doubt embarrassingly one-sided. Vague adolescent Lockhart-related lapses in judgement aside, Hermione had avoided a lot of romantic complications thus far; no unrequited crushes, no hopelessly unsuitable men and no disastrous relationships – unless Ron counted, and after all this time she wasn't sure he did. It hadn't been _that _bad.

Then again, there hadn't been any success stories, either, she reflected. It was very hard to find something in common with most men – not necessarily because she was smarter than they were, but because she was more intellectual. Until she had begun regular conversations with Severus, she hadn't realised how isolated it had made her feel, as if wanting to discuss anything complex or academic was somehow a sin.

"I've been up too long, Crooks. Any minute now I'll be Summoning some ice cream and singing _All By Myself_ or something," she informed her familiar, who twitched an ear in response but didn't even bother uncurling. Smiling, she scanned her half-written letter to Luna and after a moment's thought tossed it into the fire; she would write tomorrow, when she was more certain of how much she wanted to say.

* * *

It was now mid-April, and a rainy spring morning saw Hermione standing in Severus' bedroom. She had had to argue for a long time to get him to agree to that; originally he had planned to take the potion down in the lab, which wasn't the most comfortable location in the world. He had given in with bad grace, scowling and muttering that the pain wouldn't be any less just because he was lying on a mattress; he had subsided into sullen silence when she had pointed out that although that was true, he wouldn't bruise himself if he went into convulsions on a mattress, whereas he definitely would if he was on a cold stone floor.

His bedroom was as impersonal as the rest of his rooms – in fact, more so. The only trace of personality anywhere in the room was the stack of battered paperbacks on the bedside table. It could have been a hotel room aside from that; his caravan held more of a sense of personality.

Severus sat on the edge of the bed, studying the small vial in his hands. He didn't look happy; partly that would be because he was preparing himself to endure agonising pain, but also because he would be helpless for the duration. Hermione knew that he wouldn't appreciate the insight and busied herself Transfiguring an armchair beside the bed and settling down comfortably, with a curious Crookshanks perching on one of the arms to watch. He looked sideways at his audience and sneered.

"Can I get you anything, Granger? Some popcorn, perhaps?"

Recognising the sneer as defensive-Severus rather than nasty-Severus, she ignored it and replied quietly, "This isn't entertainment, and we both know it. I'll be here when it's over."

He shied away from eye contact, looking down and shifting uncomfortably before taking a deep breath and lifting the vial. "Cheers," he said tonelessly, closing his eyes and gulping the potion down as fast as he could swallow it.

* * *

It took longer than Severus had calculated. Oh, the actual treatment seemed to be over in two hours, as far as she could judge, but by then he had passed out, and didn't regain consciousness until that afternoon. Which was probably just as well, Hermione considered, since it had given her time to recover from her bout of nausea and dry her tears and generally compose herself. By the time he actually opened his eyes she was reading one of the books that had been beside his bed – surprisingly, an anthology of poems.

"Severus!" She put the book down and leaned forward, watching him anxiously as he blinked and focused on her. "Are you all right? Did it work?"

"I bloody well hope so," he replied hoarsely. "I'd hate to go through that for nothing." He shuddered, closing his eyes. "God, I'd forgotten how much that hurt."

"Doesn't seem like the sort of thing you could forget..."

"I thought, before, that I was simply getting used to it. It seems that it must have been nerve damage, and I simply wasn't sensing it fully."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Oh, yes," he replied in a hollow voice, his eyes closed. "That's how I know that it's working. The nerves have all regenerated. It's going to hurt until everything's less raw."

After a moment she cautiously poured a glass of water from the jug by the bed and offered it to him. "Can you sit up enough to drink?" she asked.

By way of an answer, he struggled painfully into a sitting position out of sheer stubborn pride, refusing to admit how much he was hurting, and took the glass, sipping slowly before handing it back and sinking back against the pillows. "What happened?" he asked in more clinical tones. "I don't remember much except pain."

"It didn't work immediately. You started to look uncomfortable after a few seconds, but it didn't seem to really start hurting for a couple of minutes." Hermione shivered. "It was hard to tell. I could have coped if you'd been screaming, or something, but you weren't making any sound at all, except for your breathing. You were shaking – not convulsions, but tremors, like the attack back in February – and you were obviously in pain, but you were totally silent, and you didn't respond to anything I said."

Severus nodded sombrely. "It was... something of a point of pride with me, never to scream under the Cruciatus. Even the Dark Lord couldn't make me scream that way, most of the time. If he wanted me to scream, he had to get creative. Not that that posed a problem for him, of course. I suppose now it is simply ingrained in me to make as little noise as possible when I am hurt; there are certain techniques for blocking pain..."

And she _so _didn't want to know how he'd been conditioned to give that response. She wondered briefly if she should tell him the truth – that about an hour into it he'd evidently slipped into some kind of flashback, since he had started struggling against invisible restraints and – not even begging, she could have coped with that, but simply asking in a dead voice for it to stop in a curiously resigned tone that said he knew it wouldn't. That was when she'd been sick.

Trying to match his clinical detachment, she continued, "You had your eyes closed the whole time. It seemed to be worse in your left arm, but I don't know if that was physical or psychological. It lasted maybe two hours, but at some point in the second hour you lost consciousness. You were still shaking, but it was obviously muscle contractions and not any movement you were making. About an hour ago the tremors subsided into twitches, and you've been unconscious since then."

He only nodded thoughtfully, and blinked when Crookshanks vaulted onto the bed and came to sniff him over. "What's your problem, furball?" he asked the cat weakly.

Hermione tried to smile. "He's been almost as worried as I was. I think he thought something was attacking you, at first."

"Stupid animal," he grumbled, turning his face away from Crookshanks' thorough inspection before relenting and starting to stroke him. "I am sorry either of you had to witness it," he added without looking at her.

She stared at him for a long moment, sternly reined in her first two impulses – to start crying again or to attempt to throttle him – and finally replied, "I thought it was only Gryffindors who persisted in apologising for things that were nothing to do with them."

He chuckled roughly and winced. "Touché."

"Do you want anything? I can't cook anywhere near as well as you can, but I _can _cook. Or I can get the house-elves to bring something."

"No. I do not require a nursemaid." His voice was approaching his formally crisp tones, the walls going back up rapidly.

"Stop being so damned stubborn," she snapped at him. "You're hurt. What happened to 'not everything need be a battle, sometimes it's necessary to admit that you are only human'?"

He blinked and frowned. "You remember –? Never mind. I am not merely being stubborn. I'm not injured, merely feeling pain, and I have endured worse. The pain will not ease any faster because I am lying around with nothing to do but think about it. I will feel better in myself if I am up and moving. In addition, it will help reaffirm the link between the new nerves and my muscles."

_Of course I remember. _She scowled at him, realising that there was nothing she could say or do that would persuade him to just rest. "Obstinate git. Fine. Go ahead and hurt yourself."

His lips twitched as he fought not to smile. "Insufferable woman. You can't fix the world. Go mother someone else for a while; I neither need it nor deserve it."

"That's your opinion."

"And it's my body, and my potion, and these are my rooms." He sat up, carefully pushing Crookshanks to one side, and slowly swung his legs off the bed. He was moving gingerly, but she had to admit that he seemed far better than she would have expected. Then again, with his experience of pain tolerance, he could probably walk on two broken legs without showing any signs of pain.

Hermione shook her head and said, half in admiration and half in despair, "You never give up, do you?"

"You don't give up, not until you die. Given that my life has improved dramatically this year, it would be somewhat foolish to let go now."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment, even though I doubt it was intended as such," she informed him in a lofty tone. Before he could respond, she added quickly, "And now that you are theoretically weak and off balance while you recover, I have a favour to ask of you..."

Severus looked down at her warily. The suspicion in his eyes stung to see, but it wasn't personal, and in time he would learn to trust her a little more. Given what she was actually going to ask, it was almost funny to see him tense. "What?"

She smiled at him innocently. "Feed Crookshanks for me, next week? I'm spending the last week of the holiday at The Burrow to catch up with everyone and visit friends."

The tension left him and he chuckled softly, evidently able to appreciate the way she'd just played with him. "I believe I can manage that. I would say enjoy your visit, but I find it difficult to imagine anything worse."

"They're not that bad," she replied, trying to sound indignant as she fought back laughter. More seriously, she added, "If you do need anything, please don't be too stubborn to ask."

"I refuse to be lectured on obstinacy by a Gryffindor, particularly not you," he replied, flicking a hand dismissively at her. "Away with you."

"You're clearly not well if that's the best insult you can come up with," she retorted with a grin, turning away.

As she was leaving, she heard him call softly after her, "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"...Thank you."

"Any time, Severus, and I mean that."

* * *

"So he's cured now?" Luna asked interestedly. The two had met up for some old-fashioned shopping-and-coffee therapy midway through the holiday.

"He says so. I suppose we won't really know for certain unless he has another attack. I hope so – I don't think I could watch that again."

"Was it so awful?" Luna asked sympathetically.

"No. That was the worst bit. If he'd been crying or screaming, I could have dealt with it, you know? But he just – almost ignored it. He's so strong, it – it frightens me a little. And every time I catch myself thinking about how he learned to endure pain so well, it makes me want to cry."

"That makes sense. He's not had an easy life. But look at it positively – he let you help. It seems the project is going well."

Hermione smiled. "True. Better than I thought it would. We're actually proper friends now, I think."

"He's good company for you," Luna observed, absently drawing in the froth on top of her cappuccino with her spoon.

"What makes you say that?"

Her friend looked up with her normal dreamy smile. "I've not seen you this happy in a long time," she said simply.

Taken aback, Hermione was about to protest, until she stopped and thought about it. Last year, she'd spent most of her free time holed up in her room with a book and her cat, frequently pestering her friends with long letters just for someone to talk to. This year, she'd spent most of her free time with Severus, talking endlessly about every topic under the sun, or helping him with his research, or arguing. Even their arguments were almost fun.

"You're right," she conceded slowly. "It's nice to have a friend I see more than once a term. We... get along well. Even when he's in one of his moods. And we like talking about the same things."

"Good. I'm happy for you."

"I wish the others were."

"Oh?" Luna's vague expression sharpened a little.

Hermione nodded, her good mood fading as she remembered the past few days. "Nobody else seems to appreciate that maybe I'm actually friends with Severus. I think Molly and Arthur are relieved that he's all right now, but that's as far as it goes. Harry and Ginny sort of understand why I wanted to help him, but now that he's settled in his job again they seem to think that's it. And Ron..." She sighed. "I give it another day before he really says something spiteful and I end up hexing him or walking out. It seems it's a sin to want to talk about myself and what I've been doing when I could be listening to Quidditch talk again. It reminds me of why we split up."

"You would never have worked out anyway," Luna replied calmly, sipping her coffee. "Ronald's my friend, but he is a – what was that phrase? – an insensitive wart. You deserve someone who actually understands you, or at least someone who's prepared to make the effort."

Smiling wryly, Hermione sipped her own coffee. "Prince Charming?"

"Oh, like in the Muggle fairy tale? No. You'd be utterly bored by someone like that, and you're not the sort who needs fussing over. No... you need someone you can argue with, someone who can keep up with you. A challenge."

"You've been thinking about this a lot..."

"Not really. It just seems obvious." Luna looked up and smiled vaguely. "Anyway, you're happier now. It doesn't really matter whether anyone else approves, does it?"

Hermione hesitated, surprised to hear it put so bluntly, then smiled. "No, you're right, it doesn't. Thanks."

"Keep me updated," she replied ambiguously, finishing the last of her coffee.

* * *

When Hermione stormed up the school drive a couple of days later, the first person she encountered was Severus himself, sitting on the steps outside and smoking a cigarette in the sun. He glanced up with a puzzled frown as she approached, and stood up slowly. "I thought you weren't due back until the end of the week?"

"I wasn't. Change of plan," she told him tersely.

He blinked, looking at her. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Well, that's certainly convincing."

"Leave it, Severus, please." She brushed past him, and he moved to block her way. She scowled up at him.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go inside until you're calmer," he said in a carefully neutral voice. "You're likely to start hexing some valuable antiques. And the only one allowed to terrify the students around here is me. Kindly respect my territory."

She huffed out a breath, still too angry to be amused. "I take it you're going to insist."

"Yes. Come, walk with me." He didn't give her much choice, taking a firm grip on her elbow and steering her back down the drive a little way before turning off and leading her through the trees.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere that helps me think, sometimes," he replied unhelpfully. Belatedly it occurred to her that she hadn't asked how he was; his limp was as good as it ever got, and he seemed to be moving well enough. Looking at his face, he didn't look any more tired or stressed than usual, and in fact looked better than he had since before he'd started spending every spare moment working in the lab.

"Here, sit." His voice broke through her preoccupation a few minutes later, and she sat down obediently on a fallen tree before looking around at where he'd brought her and blinking. She knew this shady clearing, vaguely, but she had never been here at this time of year before – the whole place was carpeted with bluebells; the sweet scent hung heavily in the air. He sat down next to her and looked out at the flowers quietly, finishing his cigarette, pinching out the stub and casually and wandlessly Vanishing the remains.

Following his example, Hermione sat in silence, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere. The sunlight was warm, and created a pattern of dappled light and shade that enhanced the rich colour of the bluebells. There were birds singing somewhere, and she had always liked the fragrance of bluebells, although she had seldom smelled it so strongly before.

Severus must have felt her relax. After a while he asked quietly, "What happened?"

Sighing, she shifted position. "It really wasn't anything big. I just... lost my temper."

"That is an understatement. I have not seen you this angry in a very long time."

"No, probably not. Usually when I'm this angry I go to my room and cry for a while to let it out." Glancing sideways, she smiled tentatively. "Don't panic, I won't inflict that on you again."

He snorted softly and leaned back a little, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. "Would it be forward of me to assume that it was Potter or Weasley who angered you so?" he inquired dryly.

"Probably, but that doesn't make you wrong," she replied with a sigh. "They were just... being themselves. I find it harder to tolerate it now we're not children any more. I mean, sometimes I'd like a chance to talk, you know? I have friends and hobbies and a career too, and I'd quite like to share that with them, except I can't get a word in. I was trying to tell them about the potion you made – don't worry, they don't know the details of how ill you were; I was just trying to explain the processes. I knew they wouldn't actually be interested in the technical aspect, but I just wanted to talk about helping you make it – because it was something I enjoyed and was interested in, so I foolishly assumed that my friends would be willing to listen. Harry just switched off, and Ron told me to shut up about you before he started going on about his latest girlfriend for the fifth time that morning."

"He is as tactful as ever, it would seem," Severus murmured.

"Oh, no, that wasn't what bothered me. We've been over for a very long time now, and I'm past that. It was just that he always has to talk about himself. Harry's the same. Neither of them can bear not being the centre of conversation when it's just us and our friends, even though Harry at least hates it when there are others around. And... it _could _have bothered me, you know? But that never even occurred to Ron. I just... I wish they'd just _think _sometimes. I don't like feeling like I'm overreacting or being too sensitive just because I want to talk about other friends."

"I don't particularly wish to insult your friends – well, no, that's a lie. I do. If you are waiting for either of them to _think, _you are in for a very long wait. While you are waiting, if you wish, I can light a fire and you can stare at it in the vain hope that it will freeze over."

Reluctantly, Hermione found herself smiling. "At least you're honest about it. And you understand that they are my friends, when I'm not fighting the urge to strangle them. They don't seem able to grasp the concept that you're my friend too."

"You were... defending me?" he asked, sounding surprised. She smiled up at him.

"Yes. I always have, you know. Admittedly, it always used to be because I disapproved of not respecting a teacher, but now... I like talking to you – even if we argue – and I don't like being treated like I'm being unreasonable just because I want my friends to know that I'm enjoying work more."

He didn't answer, apparently taken aback by this revelation, and they sat in silence for a time. The silence was peaceful, she observed; Severus wasn't the sort to fidget or grow uneasy just because nobody was talking. He didn't go in for small talk; if he had nothing to say, he said nothing. It was restful, after the week she'd had, and it was lovely here with the bluebells.

"It's beautiful here," she said quietly after a while.

"Yes," he agreed softly.

"How did you know?"

"How did I find this place, or why did I bring you here?"

"Both, really."

His lips twitched in one of his almost-smiles. "I've known about this place for a very long time. I often wandered around the grounds by myself when I was a boy – usually to find either hiding places or good spots for ambushes," he admitted wryly. "I'd been through here before, but it was sheer luck that brought me back when the bluebells were in flower. After that, I came back every year. As for the other question... I like to be outside if I am in a bad mood. My temper was not improved by being confined to the dungeons," he added in a dry tone. "It is difficult to remain angry when you are somewhere warm and sunny and sweet-smelling."

"Yes. Thank you."

"Much as I would have enjoyed watching you taking your temper out on some inoffensive second year, it would have been dreadfully messy."

"Well, I _did _have an excellent teacher in that regard," she said mischievously, smiling at the glitter of amusement in his eyes. She had noticed recently that Severus seemed more willing to laugh at himself these days – within limits.

"So nice to know that I managed to teach you something of value," he drawled.

"Oh, you did, even if you never intended to," she said quietly. One way or another, she had learned quite a lot from his example – things like learning to watch what she said, learning to keep an eye on her surroundings to see who might be nearby, learning to be prepared (the threat of Professor Snape descending on them in a vindictive mood was far more effective than Moody barking "Constant Vigilance!" at them all the time). Later, there had been other, less obvious lessons – the strength of love and the price of courage, and the ability of the human spirit to endure beyond reasonable limits.

Hermione didn't say any of this – she wouldn't have been able to make it through the first sentence without stammering and blushing like a girl – but she didn't have to. His eyes widened slightly and he hastily looked away, unthinkingly leaning forward a little so that his hair swung forward and hid his face from view – a gesture she had only seen in the memories of others before. For a moment she felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and gently push his hair away from his face, and promptly knotted her fingers together in her lap until the mad impulse had passed.

Seeking for something else to say, she fell back on her earlier thoughts. "How are you, Severus? Have the effects of the potion eased off?"

"Almost completely," he replied after a moment, his voice a little distant as though he was thinking of something else. "In truth, it worked better than I expected. When the last traces of soreness have eased, I will attempt some diagnostic charms and see if there has been any improvement."

"Good. I'm glad."

The comfortable silence fell once more as the evening grew darker, until finally he stirred. "I should be getting back. I still have to evaluate my seventh-years' final projects before the summer term starts."

She nodded, then blinked in surprise when he stood and offered her a hand up, apparently entirely on automatic. Taking it, she suppressed a shiver as his long fingers curled around hers, covering it as she stood up by observing quietly, "You were obviously well brought up..."

He frowned slightly, then seemed to realise what he had done and shrugged, awkwardly letting go. "Not really, as you should know. But when I was a boy the old-fashioned courtesies were still taught at Hogwarts – these days it is considered terribly _de rigueur _and seen as a pure-blood affectation, but back then we were taught etiquette. Standing up when a lady enters the room, opening doors and so on."

"How... quaint," she said in surprise, and he smiled slightly.

"To you, perhaps, but it was the normal way then. It still is, in the old families, I believe. We also learned some of the old traditional arts – dancing, fencing, riding."

"You're making this up."

"No, I'm quite serious. It was... not unlike something out of an Austen novel."

That seemed very strange to Hermione, but now that she thought about it, Severus did have somewhat old-fashioned manners. She hadn't really noticed, but he had generally escorted her to the door when she left the caravan over the summer, and also did so when she left his rooms. Now he actually bowed slightly and offered her his arm, and she rolled her eyes. "It doesn't count as good manners if you're doing it to wind people up," she told him, smiling as she gently took the proffered arm.

"Nonsense. Half the reason these somewhat antiquated customs still exist is so that the old families can practice ever more subtle ways of cutting one another dead."

They began the walk back to Hogwarts, and she looked up at him in the gathering twilight. "I don't believe the riding or the fencing."

"I admit to making those two up," he conceded with another almost-smile. "The dancing is true, though, and so is the etiquette. And I _do _know how to ride and how to fence."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. I learned many strange things during my travels – strange for a wizard, anyway."

"Doesn't your knee hinder you, on horseback?"

"Not really, although it does ache a little if I ride for too long. Or it did – this was some years ago, after all."

"I haven't been riding since I was thirteen," she said reminiscently. "And I've never tried fencing," she added wryly.

"You should," he said distantly. "Few people, Muggle or wizard, are prepared to face an opponent who is suddenly holding a sword." He seemed to be thinking about something else again, and she was content to walk in silence, feeling the shifting of muscle in his forearm under her hand – he was tense, apparently not over his issues with physical contact.

When they reached the castle, he didn't seem inclined to talk, and once she had collected Crookshanks she returned to her own rooms with a great deal to think about – not least of which was that small shiver she had felt when she touched his hand. _Oh dear.

* * *

_Hermione was tremendously relieved to discover over the next few days that in point of fact she _didn't_ blush when she saw him, her heart _didn't_ skip when he spoke, and there was no electricity when she touched him – at least most of the time. This wasn't the silly hormonal crush that she had been dreading. In fact, it was far simpler – she liked him; more than that, she was attracted to him. All that had happened was that she had simply started noticing that he was male.

And he wasn't precisely unattractive, she reflected, now that his skin and hair weren't so greasy any more and his teeth weren't yellow and he wasn't living on a single fraying nerve. His voice really was ridiculously sexy when he wasn't snarling – and sometimes even when he was, as long as it wasn't directed at her; the man could really make sarcasm sound wonderful. She liked his dark, intense eyes, and he had nice hands with those long and elegant fingers. He suited long hair, too – she found it hard to picture him with it trimmed short. Even his nose wasn't so noticeable now, with the other small changes to his appearance, and it gave his face character.

After she had taken time to think about it, she concluded that it was one of those 'adult-friendship' things again. Her other male friends were firmly in the 'brother' category – Harry and Neville always had been, and so had the Weasley boys, with the occasional exception of Ron, and she was no longer entirely sure about that one. It made sense that Severus would be different, since she hadn't known him as an adolescent boy constantly getting into trouble – when she saw the others, she saw the boy first and the man second.

It was also worth remembering that she hadn't been on a date in over a year – closer to two years, now that she thought about it. That was pretty depressing, but she didn't often meet new people these days. Severus and Neville were the only men even close to her own age that she saw regularly, and Neville was spoken for, not her type, and forever etched into her memory as a short and slightly chubby eleven year old with a tendency to stutter who kept losing his toad.

Once she had sorted that out to her own satisfaction, she felt better. Severus himself seemed completely unaware of her dilemma; they had entered the final term now, and he had seven years of students to bully through their exams as well as a House to tend to, plus the preparations for next year. He had slightly updated the syllabus this year, and was considering a few more changes next year. All of which meant that he was very busy; she still spent much of her free time with him, but mostly she sat in what had become _her _chair in his rooms and continued working her way through his bookshelves whilst he steadily dug through the mounds of paperwork that plagued him.

"I've been meaning to ask," he said absently one drowsy Sunday afternoon as he signed yet another form and dumped it onto the pile that had once been an Out tray, "what do you actually do when you're not teaching? You have less than half a dozen classes a week."

"I annoy grouchy Potions masters," she replied serenely, smiling and putting her book down. "Not much, if I'm honest. Research. I've collaborated on a couple of Charms and Transfiguration papers, and got one or two small things of my own published. Nothing earth-shattering."

"Isn't it... rather a waste? You could be so much more."

_So could you, _she thought, not for the first time. When she had begun her research on Severus, she'd realised just how many qualifications he had and how much research he had done; he was absolutely wasted teaching children, and it was fairly obvious that he didn't enjoy it.

Knowing better than to acknowledge what had actually been a lovely compliment, she shrugged and explained, "At the moment it is. I'm... waiting. Next year I'll gain a class; Muggle Studies will become an option a year earlier than it currently does. Eventually Minerva plans to make it mandatory for younger students, and I will be teaching full time. If nothing else, the war taught us that wizarding society is still dangerously divided, and that is mostly due to ignorance. Most pure-bloods know _nothing _of Muggle society; Muggleborns are encouraged to leave that world behind; and half-bloods like you who know both sides of their heritage are as rare as hen's teeth. I've mentioned it before."

"Star Wars," he said quietly, remembering.

"Yes. Harry's a good example – he was raised a Muggle, but he's left it behind as much as possible. He and Ginny have a telephone, but I think that's it. Or Seamus Finnegan – he's a half-blood, but his father was integrated into the wizarding world and he didn't know anything about Muggles when we were at school. Tonks was the same, and her father was Muggleborn. And it doesn't make _sense. _Look at you – you live mostly as a Muggle. Why?"

He had begun to smile. "Because it's easier," he said softly. "Flicking a light switch is far less effort than maintaining a spell; cleaning spells simply don't work as well as doing it by hand, at least when I use them; cooking by magic isn't much faster than cooking by hand and isn't as interesting. Telephones are less awkward and more private than Floo calls. If you have a radio anyway you might as well tune in to Muggle stations, since the music is better. Cars are safer and more comfortable than brooms, as even the Ministry has realised, although I admit Apparition is still the best alternative if time is an issue. And television and the Internet are probably the best inventions – look at how much of our research was done with computers." His smile broadened. "Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," he quoted.

"Arthur C Clarke. _Exactly!_" She had been trying for years to get her friends to listen to her on these exact same points. "But everyone is programmed to assume that magic must automatically be superior to anything that the poor Muggles have managed to come up with, so they won't even consider the alternatives, and it's a short step from that to believing that the Muggles themselves are lesser. If wizarding children are taught early on about just what has been achieved and about what Muggles have to offer us, it will help reduce all those old prejudices."

"I notice you are not naïve enough to think that it will solve everything."

"I'm not stupid, Severus, and I've come a long way since SPEW." He choked back a laugh, and she scowled at him, entirely unsurprised that he knew about it. "I don't want to change the world, not really. I grew out of that idealistic phase a long time ago. But this is a start, and it's worthwhile – or it will be, soon." She shrugged, calming down a little. "And in the meantime, I can research anything that takes my fancy and just take some time to relax. I haven't always done this; I took a Ministry job after my NEWTs, thinking that things would change now that V – the Dark Lord was dead. I'm sure you can guess how that little dream worked out, but I was stubborn and refused to give up on it, until Minerva offered me the Muggle Studies post a couple of years ago and I decided I'd rather do that."

"And what do you think of teaching?"

"I enjoy it. I suppose it makes a huge difference because my subject is optional; students don't choose it unless they're genuinely interested, so I don't have to put up with any of the – the dunderheads you continually complain about. And I didn't have to start out by teaching students who had known me when I was a pupil, either. If I can really start making a difference too, I'll have almost everything I ever really wanted."

"What do you plan to teach these young and prejudiced pure-bloods, then?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious and sincerely interested – something nobody else had been.

"The starting point will have to be basic principles. Things like electricity and science. Apart from Arthur Weasley, most wizards aren't interested, and the few that are get it hopelessly wrong and muddled up. Most wizards don't even know how the world works – things like gravity or the contents of air are just taken for granted. Then I want to cover history – a lot of important Muggle figures were secretly witches or wizards, but a lot weren't. So much of the past has had such an impact on the wizarding world without anyone realising it, and there are valuable lessons to be learned. If wizards had known more about men like Hitler, they might not have been so quick to follow Grindelwald or the Dark Lord. I want to teach them how to survive in Muggle Britain, too – about money, and customs, and laws. Encourage the older students to learn to drive, maybe. Some of my classmates didn't even know there was a queen of England, did you know that? And computers! So much of Muggle life is becoming computerised these days. Most pure-bloods would be totally helpless if they had had to flee the wizarding world the way you did. If the witch hunts were to return now, we'd all be in real trouble. And that's history again."

Abruptly realising that she'd been perhaps a little too enthusiastic, Hermione stopped talking and looked at him uncertainly, feeling embarrassed. There was a hint of amusement in his face, but it wasn't mocking, and mostly he seemed truly impressed. "You've really thought this through."

"I've been thinking about it since my first year," she said. "In fact, mostly because of you."

He blinked and frowned. "Me?"

"That logic puzzle of yours, guarding the Philosopher's Stone. I'd been doing puzzles like that for years, but Harry and Ron had no idea. They'd never seen those sorts of riddles before. No pure-blood would have. That was what made it such an effective defence. It made me think that maybe magic wasn't always the best way."

That earned her another almost-smile. "I base many of my lessons in Potions theory on Muggle chemistry," he confided quietly. "A lot of the principles are the same. And my healing potions; I do all the Infirmary brewing because I get better results, and I get better results because I've altered most of the recipes – in many cases, using innovations from Muggle medicine."

"I didn't know that, but it makes sense. And since talking to you, I've been working on my future syllabus."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes?"

"Do you remember, down in the lab at the beginning of the year? You said you didn't think the wizarding world capable of producing any creative work of quality, whether it was music, art, poetry or prose."

"Have you memorised every conversation we've ever had?" he asked with a hint of exasperated amusement.

"The important ones, yes," she replied briskly. "You were right. And the syllabus as I had it laid out was a bit intensive. So alongside all the important things, I want to encourage the students to look at Muggle art, music and literature. Partly it's light relief, something different. Partly it gives an insight into Muggle culture. And partly it will encourage them to try new things."

He transferred his intent stare from her face to the wall, and was silent for a while as he thought things through. Finally he looked back at her, his expression serious, and said quietly, "You may not think you want to change the world, Hermione, but if this works... you won't just change it, you'll set it on fire. Changing those old attitudes could be one of the single most important things ever to happen to our society. I hope I live long enough to see it."

Taken aback by the unusual note in his voice, and fighting not to blush or cry in sheer happiness at this unexpected vindication, she smiled and replied lightly, "Oh, you will. I've not put so much effort into mothering you to let it go now, and I'll need you to convince your House. Besides, I plan to borrow some of your music and your books when it comes to it."

He sputtered a rough laugh, caught off guard. "Oh, really? And what do I get out of this?"

_I'd owe you a few favours. I could think of a few ways to repay them, too. _Resisting the urge to say that just to watch his face, she grinned at him. "You get to join the revolution, comrade. Not just see it happen, but take part. If you don't mind helping, there's a lot you could demonstrate about living with the best of both cultures."

"So you're going to anger my House and steal my possessions, and repay me by forcing me to take on extra work?" he asked, amused. "You Gryffindors really don't know how to bargain."

"This particular Gryffindor is learning from a Slytherin. I'm a quick learner; give me time."

* * *

_There are a lot of important scenes in this one. Be sure to read it carefully; we'll be returning to near enough every subject here at a later date.  
_


	13. Chapter 13

_Gosh, how time flies. I didn't realise we were so far into the story.  


* * *

_

**"****The opposite of loneliness is not togetherness. It is intimacy****.****"**  
– Richard Bach.

* * *

All too soon the exams were upon them. Hermione was invigilating a lot of the exams, to give the full-time staff a little breathing space; Severus did not have that luxury, since he had to be on standby during every single Potions practical. Nobody else invigilated their own subject, but then again, nobody else's subject was likely to produce explosions if a student panicked. It meant that she didn't see as much of him as she had been, but since she was busy as well it didn't affect her much. She did find herself almost dreading the summer holidays, though. Her friends would be busy, and she doubted they would be any less annoying than they had been at Easter; she confidently expected to be spending the break holed up in her tiny flat trying not to boil to death or collapse from sheer boredom.

"Do you have any plans for the summer, Severus?" she asked idly one warm evening, a few days before the end of term. They were outside again; even in the dungeons, it was too warm to be entirely comfortable inside.

"Not really," he replied, paying more attention to lighting his cigarette than to the question. "The caravan will probably need a few repairs, but that's about it. I've had enough of travelling for a while. What about you?"

"No. I could go away, but Luna's busy, and I don't think I could tolerate anyone else for more than a day. I'll probably visit a few people, but apart from that, no. Maybe I'll try and think of something new to start researching... are you planning anything new?"

"At some point I was thinking of trying to develop a better oil for treating scar tissue," he said thoughtfully. "I have been using a Muggle product –" he half-smiled briefly "– but against scars from curses or magical creatures there is only so much it can do and I am sure there is a better alternative."

"I assume this isn't just for the scars on your neck," she said softly, recalling the scars she had noticed on his arms last summer or when he rolled his sleeves up whilst working in the lab.

"No. There are many others." He shrugged and exhaled a thin plume of smoke, watching it dissipate in the twilight. "None of them hurt. But the skin is tight, and it can be uncomfortable."

"I know."

He stared at her for a moment, the unasked question clear in his face, before evidently deciding it really wasn't any of his business and looking away. Briefly she considered telling him, but decided against it for now; it wasn't a problem as such, it was only the one scar, but the conversation would be less than happy and she wasn't in the mood for it. Besides, it was a little more personal than she thought he would be comfortable with, and if he decided to reciprocate she was certain she didn't really want to know about his scars. Not yet, at least.

"Well, that's next year's project sorted out, then," she said lightly, to distract herself as much as him.

"You're going to insist on plaguing me again?"

"Now now, Severus, don't be nasty. Admit it, I was moderately helpful and not completely irritating."

He only grunted sourly in response, and she couldn't quite hold back a grin, which only made him scowl. One thing about this new awareness of him, she reflected; it had given her at least some degree of immunity to the scowl that would once have sent her running.

* * *

The last day of term brought its usual chaos. Eventually the students had all departed, and the staff stood in the Entrance Hall exchanging sighs of relief before gathering their possessions and departing in turn. Hermione walked down to the gates with Severus in silence, for once not looking forward to the break; he didn't seem to be in a good mood either, despite his earlier triumph when Slytherin had clawed their way from fourth to second place in the House standings.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly. They were among the last to leave, and the silent stillness of the grounds surrounded them.

He exhaled heavily. "I never liked returning home for the summer," he said flatly. "Even though my schooldays were hell, a lot of the time, it was always better than being at home."

That must be the ultimate Hobson's choice, Hermione reflected, faced with bullies on one side and an abusive father on the other. Admittedly she had no actual _proof _that his father had abused him, but it had certainly been very strongly implied by several sources, and if she'd needed any proof at all then it was written in his eyes now. Not really knowing what to say, she adjusted her hold on Crookshanks' basket and touched his arm briefly before withdrawing her hand; he didn't _quite _flinch under her touch, but she suspected that was only because he had made a conscious effort not to.

"And when you were sixteen..." she said awkwardly, remembering what he'd told her.

He nodded, more in acknowledgement than agreement. "That wasn't as bad as you think, or as bad as it probably should have been. I... didn't really care that they were dead. I felt nothing one way or the other about my mother by that point; I would have felt more if I'd been looking at a stranger's body. As for my father..." He paused and his lips twisted into a bitter sneer. "My first reaction was anger." His voice dropped and an obscure kind of pain crept into his eyes. "I had planned to kill him myself. I even had the damned poison in my trunk. I'd been working on it all term. And the bastard cheated me by dying early."

She knew he was saying it mostly for shock value, intellectually. But that didn't mean that it wasn't true. In an odd way, Hermione thought she was grateful for the reminder of just what this man was capable of; the last thing she wanted for either of them was for her to build up some fantasy image of him in her head or put him on a pedestal. And, more oddly, the story didn't bother her as much as it perhaps should have done. At the time, Severus had been sixteen. He'd just lost his best friend (it hadn't occurred to her when he'd first told her about his parents that it was the same summer as the incident she'd seen in the Pensieve, down by the lake). In fact, he had just lost his _only _friend. He'd been isolated and hurt and angry and lonely, and he'd been returning to weeks of abuse and unhappiness with no prospect of escaping for even a few hours. But he hadn't been broken, then. She didn't think he would have actually gone through with his plan. Moreover, looking at his face, she rather thought he didn't believe it either. A few years later it would have been a very different story, of course, and now he wouldn't have hesitated for a second; but back then? No.

"Sometimes things don't work out the way we think they ought to," she said finally, "but sometimes they work out the way they're supposed to."

Looking a little puzzled by her reaction, Severus did his best to sneer. "If you quote Mick Jagger at me, I swear, I will hex you."

"Give me a little credit. I have better taste than that. And we both know you couldn't have done it, not then. I could believe you'd curse him, in the heat of the moment, but I don't believe you were capable of premeditated murder back then, or you would already have done it."

"Don't be naïve."

"I'm not. I'm being truthful, and you know it. _Now, _I know you'd do it, if you truly didn't see an alternative, and I can believe you wouldn't feel much. But you couldn't have done it then, and even now you wouldn't do it solely for your own sake."

He wouldn't meet her eyes, as they stood facing one another in the sunlight. "Hermione, don't make the mistake of thinking that you know anything about what I am capable of. I have seen and done more than you could possibly imagine, and you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Maybe not," she replied, still surprisingly calm. "But I'm getting there." Reaching out, she touched his arm gently, ignoring his reaction as he automatically jerked away, and smiled at him. "Have a good summer, Severus, and I'll see you in September." Taking a firmer grip on Crookshanks' basket, she turned away before he could respond, feeling his eyes on her as she concentrated.

In the fraction of a second as she Apparated, as the world whirled dizzily before her eyes, she distantly heard his voice whisper, "September."

* * *

The summer did not get off to an auspicious start. Luna was away chasing some bizarre and hopefully imaginary creature in Portugal, Harry and Ginny had entered one of their irritatingly nauseating phases when they were ignoring everything but one another (she suspected Ginny was pregnant again, or if not, she probably would be soon) and everyone else seemed to be too busy to talk. At all. Or meet for a drink, or a meal. Or even answer a letter. She hadn't felt this lonely, frustrated, isolated or bored since... well, since last summer, actually, until a certain meeting in Waterloo Station had transformed her life so completely.

And that, Hermione suspected, was the real reason she felt so irritable now. She missed him, snarky and irritating and unpleasant though he often was; at least he was willing to talk to her, and to listen when she talked, regardless of his opinion of the subject. And the weather wasn't helping; a terrible heatwave had descended and it was too hot to move, almost too hot to think. And now the goddamned electric fan had broken. Her flat was like an oven, regardless of how many Cooling Charms she attempted.

Fed up with everything and in a bad mood, she flopped wearily into a chair and picked up her mobile phone, scrolling through her address book in the hope of finding a forgotten friend – preferably one who lived somewhere with air conditioning. She drew a blank, but the last entry made her frown – she'd forgotten that she had Severus' number, although for his privacy's sake he was listed only as S. Impulsively she sent him a text message.

_Well, my summer is total shit so far. How about yours?_

It was a waste of time texting any of her friends, really – even Harry had never quite got the hang of it. She didn't expect a response, but to her surprise her phone beeped only a minute or so later.

_You're breaking my heart._

Staring at the screen, she felt a smile creeping onto her face.

_I'm a heartbreaker? Flatterer. Do all Slytherins have silver tongues? _she replied.

The response was almost immediate: _Yes. Forked, naturally. _

That earned a low, delighted laugh as she hastily composed her reply. She rejected her first response – it would be all too easy to start flirting, and that was a bad idea on so many levels, not to mention that he would laugh himself sick. _Well, cold blood would be useful in this heat._

His reply came as quickly as before; evidently he was familiar enough with texting to compose messages quickly without having to resort to butchering the words. _You're discussing the weather? How terribly British of you._

_I'm patriotic like that. But seriously, the site must be a furnace._

It took a little longer for his reply to arrive this time. _If that was an attempt to obtain an invitation to come and see for yourself, you really should work on your subtlety, Gryffindor._

_You've met my friends. Why would I need subtlety?_

_An excellent point; yet you may find some degree of subtlety useful now that you are in more illustrious company._

Hermione smiled, wondering briefly what his phone dictionary had suggested. His vocabulary wasn't really what the phone manufacturers had had in mind. Taking a moment to think about his messages, she realised that he'd been right and she had been trying to ask herself down to the caravan; she also realised that while he hadn't said yes, he hadn't said no either. And clearly he was as bored as she was. Making her decision, she sent her reply. _Doubtless I will acquire sneakiness from the aforementioned illustrious company through more frequent exposure. _Once it had sent, she headed to her room to get changed, recalling the Apparition point she had used before.

Her phone beeped again as she locked her door. _You make it sound like a disease._

_It is. A complex and unpredictable affliction with varied symptoms and, as yet, no effective treatment. My research is ongoing, _she replied, before tucking the phone into her pocket and concentrating.

When the world stopped spinning, she was at the edge of a field near the road leading to the caravan site. It was just as suffocatingly hot here as it was at home, despite being out in the country and near the sea. As she started walking, her phone trilled again, and she read the message as she walked. _Sounds serious. Any theories on the cause?_

This was probably the most surreal conversation she had ever had with anyone, she decided, considering possible replies as she walked into the site and headed towards his van. _Many theories, but no solid evidence. The subject has a tendency to be a snarky and uncooperative git; progress is slow._

She was close enough to hear the beep of his phone as the message arrived, and blinked as she caught sight of the van. He had set up an actual hammock between the caravan and his jeep, rather lower than was usual for a hammock, and lay sprawled in it with one arm curled behind his head and his phone in the other hand, smiling slightly as he read the message before rapidly pressing buttons; the faint sound of the radio drifted through the open door behind him.

Hermione managed to muffle her phone's message alert tone as his reply arrived, although she was less successful at stifling her laughter when she read it. _I have every faith in your irritating stubbornness. Even if your friends have never required anything beyond a sledgehammer approach, there is still some hope for you._

"That was unkind," she said aloud as she walked towards him. He had looked around when she laughed and didn't seem surprised to see her; apparently she had correctly interpreted the message.

"Yet accurate," he responded, shifting slightly to put the phone in his pocket. His appearance was a shock, since she had grown used to seeing him in robes and more formal clothing once more; he wore loose jeans and a pale grey shirt that was only half buttoned, and he was barefoot.

"Isn't that a bit low for a hammock?" she asked, looking down at him. The open neck of the shirt showed the yin-yang necklace she had given him back in January (as far as she knew, he had never taken it off, which was rather sweet); it also showed part of a scar and a glimpse of black hair that she tried not to look at.

"Do you honestly think I could climb in and out of a normal hammock with my leg?" he asked, shading his eyes as he looked up at her; he looked tired. "Even this is fairly awkward."

"Which does rather beg the question, why bother?"

"As you accurately surmised, the site is a furnace, almost literally," he replied wearily. "I actually slept out here last night. Well, I lay out here with my eyes closed; I didn't manage to sleep."

"Tell me about it," she agreed, spotting an unguarded deck chair by a nearby caravan and casually helping herself. Sprawling inelegantly next to him, she wiped her face. "My fan broke. I can't sit in my flat any longer; I might actually melt."

"How is the furball coping?"

"Oh, Crookshanks is all right. He's asleep in the bathtub with the tap dripping on his back every so often. And I put ice cubes in his water bowl. He's better off than I am. I'll tell him you asked after him, though," she added with an attempt at sarcasm.

He snorted softly in reply, and after a moment shifted position. She opened her eyes and blinked when she saw him raise his wand; a few moments later, two bottles drifted through the open window of the caravan and floated over to him. "Severus! What about all the Muggles?"

"In this weather, they'll think it was a mirage," he responded. "Anyway, they're all down on the beach getting horribly burned and trying to ignore their children's endless and incessant whining." He handed one of the bottles to her, and she held the cool glass for a few moments before opening it. It turned out to be cloudy lemonade, almost shockingly cold and a perfect balance between sweet and sour.

"Perfect. Thank you." She studied the bottle, which looked more like a beer bottle than anything else and had no label. "Home made?"

"Indeed."

"You've been very bored, haven't you."

"It's so hot I think the television may melt, not that there's anything worth watching. I haven't dared switch the computer on in case it overheats. And I can't concentrate enough to read. That doesn't leave many options."

"I know the feeling." She fell silent, savouring the soft music and the cold drink, absently watching him. He even had a scar on the bottom of his left foot, she saw, a jagged slice that looked like he'd stood on broken glass. His shirt was beginning to cling to him, and his hair looked damp. She doubted she looked any better; her hair wasn't quite as unmanageable as it used to be, but it had a tendency to frizz in extreme weather conditions, and even in cut-off trousers and a tank top she was too hot. "God, this is insane. I thought global warming was supposed to happen gradually."

He huffed a quiet laugh in response and sipped his lemonade. "Take a cool shower, if you like," he offered, not bothering to open his eyes. "I don't pay for water, the tank has a Permanent Refill Charm on it, so you can take as long as you want."

"That sounds... heavenly," she admitted, "but I don't have any other clothes with me..." There were always cleaning charms, but she was never going to be a housewife; domestic spells annoyed her.

"Bedroom, second drawer down. You can borrow a t-shirt. If you want."

"I..." She hesitated, feeling the almost suffocating heat wrapping closely around her, and changed her mind. "I'm too hot to be polite. Thank you."

"Everything's in there," he replied vaguely.

* * *

The caravan was unbearably hot inside; hardly surprising, given that it was essentially a long metal box standing mostly in full sun. The doors at both ends were open, as were all the interior doors and all the windows, but there was no moving air anywhere. Cautiously entering his bedroom, she found the drawer and curiously picked through the shirts, wondering briefly what it had cost this private man to allow her this far into his world. Any shirt she found would be far too large, but she finally chose a faded blue-grey shirt with a white palm tree on the front that wasn't too bad. She had no idea why he had it; it didn't really seem like him, somehow, and she doubted he had ever worn it. Firmly resisting the urge to look through his other drawers while she was there – he'd trusted her, and she wasn't going to betray that – she went into the tiny bathroom and shut the door.

There was no lock on the door, she realised. Then again, that wasn't surprising, as he lived alone – she only locked her own bathroom door out of habit, and half the time she forgot. A lock spell would make her feel better, but it would also be terribly insulting – _and be honest, Hermione, would you really complain if he walked in? _She looked around; there wasn't much to see. Toilet, tiny sink, shower stall. A shelf in the shower holding a bottle of shampoo, a flannel and a bottle of shower gel. A shelf next to the sink holding a can of shaving foam, a razor, a mug with a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in it. A shelf above that one holding a hairbrush, a can of deodorant and a bar of soap. A rail under the tiny frosted-glass window with two towels hanging on it. It was terribly minimal and impersonal, but then again, it was a bathroom. What else had she been expecting?

Vaguely amused at her woolgathering, Hermione stripped quickly and got in the shower. The first touch of cold water almost hurt, but after a moment her body began to cool down and she relaxed, turning to inspect the bottles on the shelf. The shampoo was herbal, and from the smell might actually have had real herbs waved vaguely near it at some point, which probably meant he had made it himself; the shower gel was citrus. She used both, relieved to no longer feel so sticky and uncomfortable, and enjoyed the chance to linger in the shower without having to worry about the cost – her water bills had gone up recently.

When she eventually dressed and went outside with the damp towels, the air was at last beginning to cool down as the shadows lengthened. The hammock was no longer in the sun, and Severus had fallen asleep. Abandoning her flip-flops in an attempt at stealth, she hung the towels up as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake him, then sat on the steps and watched him sleeping, fascinated by this glimpse of a more vulnerable side.

He looked younger, asleep. A lot of the tension in his face had relaxed, some of the hard edges softening. It was worth remembering, however, that he was still dangerous; his wand was within his reach and she had seen how quick his reflexes were. She doubted he was the sort to sleep heavily. He didn't snore, either, which as far as she knew made him unique amongst her male friends – and some of her female friends, come to that.

After a while his eyes began moving under closed lids, and she wondered what he was dreaming about. She hoped it wasn't an unpleasant dream, but suspected that was probably wishful thinking. He'd started to twitch a little, too – not struggling-in-nightmares twitching, more restless-sleeping-puppy twitching, although she decided with a small smile to never, ever voice that particular comparison in his hearing. Watching him, she frowned; was that moisture on his face? Maybe he was prone to night sweats; that happened with bad dreams sometimes... The thought dissolved when she leaned in for a closer look and realised what it really was.

He was crying. Silently. In his sleep.

Hermione watched him for a while, wondering if she should wake him. He didn't seem to be having bad dreams; his eye movements were quite slow, and the occasional twitch wasn't bad, and his breathing was deep and even and regular. She had a horrible feeling that this was actually normal for him. _Maybe it's how he coped, all those years, _she mused. _There had to be some kind of emotional outlet, or he would have gone insane. Maybe he lets go of some of it when he sleeps. _She wondered if he knew, and decided that he didn't. He would never have relaxed his guard enough to fall asleep where someone might see him if he knew that he was revealing anything remotely personal. That presumably meant that he had very seldom, if ever, fallen asleep with company...

She wasn't sure how much time passed, but it couldn't have been long before those silent tears slowed and stopped. Severus sighed, shifting slightly onto one side, and relaxed again, all movement ceasing as he passed into deeper sleep once more. The movement had caused the shirt to gape open a little; she could see black chest hair now, and a scar making a furrow through it, and a slight swell of muscle. That might have been more distracting if she hadn't been so busy thinking about the earlier tears. Eventually it occurred to her that he was going to be furious if he woke to find her watching him, and she Summoned a book, limiting herself to a swift glance at him at the end of every page.

* * *

Even his waking up gave her another insight. Everyone in her experience – friends, family, lovers – took at least a few seconds to orientate themselves when they woke as their brains registered who they were and where they were; not so with Severus. He went from sleeping to fully awake without apparently passing through any intermediate stage. One moment he'd been sleeping quietly, the next he was sitting up, his eyes alert and his wand in his hand – an automatic reflex, she suspected. Noticing her, he relaxed slightly and slid his wand back into his belt. "Good evening," he remarked, looking a little awkward.

"Hello," she replied, smiling. "Feel better? It looked like you needed that."

"Hmm," he murmured noncommittally in reply. "I didn't expect you to still be here. Even by my usual standards, I can't think I was particularly good company."

"Oh, I don't know... I've endured worse," she told him as sarcastically as she dared. "And it's not as if you snore or anything. It was quite peaceful, really. Besides, it would have been rude to just use your shower and leave."

"If you say so." He slowly levered himself out of the hammock and stood, stretching.

"I do say so. Thank you for lending me the shirt."

He glanced at her as he climbed the steps into the van, passing her and heading for the bathroom. She heard him mutter under his breath, "Looks better on you than it does me," as he passed, and almost dropped her book in sheer shock, staring after him until she heard the bathroom door shut.

_What does that mean? _She felt another little shiver run down her spine as she considered that whatever this strange attraction was, it seemed to be mutual. That was an unexpected development. Thinking about it, it made sense – he had fewer friends than she did (in fact, he seemed to have none whatsoever, except for her) and the only women even close to his own age at Hogwarts didn't even bear thinking about – but she still hadn't entirely got used to the notion that men might find her attractive, even after years of evidence to support it.

A number of small and until now unnoticed little signals now nudged at her memory. Over the last couple of months or so – since a little before Easter, in fact – he'd seemed slightly different. She'd seen him watching her a few times with an intent, oddly troubled expression that she had dismissed as his usual brooding, and he hadn't seemed to know how he wanted to behave around her – one day he might be making a real effort to be less antagonistic and more considerate, and the next he would be more distant than he had ever been, swinging between the two extremes as if the previous months of quiet friendship hadn't happened.

_Well. That was... unexpected. _Still thinking, it occurred to her that he seemed to be spending quite a long time in the bathroom, all things considered. Recalling his expression as he'd walked past her, Hermione realised that he had certainly not meant to say anything aloud, and had probably just neatly embarrassed himself. His closed, guarded expression when he did eventually reappear supported this; she judged it good politics to pretend she hadn't heard him, and also pretended not to notice the peculiar blend of relief and something else in his eyes.

* * *

That had been a week ago; for a variety of reasons, she'd spent most of every day since down at the caravan. It hadn't been precisely awkward, as such; there was an odd feeling in the air between the two of them now, but it wasn't tension so much as... awareness. And if she could sense it, Hermione reflected, then certainly Severus the master spy could. Neither of them had openly acknowledged it yet, but she felt there was a certain inevitability about it. Sooner or later they were going to have to admit there was something there.

But for the moment, the heatwave was continuing unabated, and it was easier to ignore it and simply enjoy spending time together. He spent much of the time cooking, mostly for something to do; she learned that the more exotic a particular dish was, the greater his level of boredom. The caravan was so hot anyway that cooking didn't make much difference, although they usually didn't eat until after nightfall had brought a little relief. To her embarrassment, she had fallen asleep as well, dozing away most of one morning; all Severus had said when she tried to apologise was that turnabout was fair play, adding with a wicked smile, "And it's not as if you snore or anything."

They watched films, or read, or talked. His video collection (he had only just begun progressing to DVDs) was every bit as weird and varied as his music, and finally she asked about it.

"It's not a conscious choice," he replied absently. "I had no money for a long time. Most of my videos and CDs come from charity shops and car boot sales. So do most of my books, come to that. I also had problems with concentration, for a while, and it was easier if I had a wide range of genres available."

"Fair enough."

"My turn for a question, I believe?" It had become almost a game, in a strange way, taking it in turns to ask questions that were usually wildly irrelevant to whatever the last person had asked, jumping from topic to topic.

"Go ahead."

"What are you doing here?"

"What?" Sitting up – he'd given her the hammock and taken over a sun lounger he had almost certainly stolen from a neighbouring caravan – Hermione stared at him. He looked back at her seriously.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" he repeated quietly. "You can't tell me you've always wanted to spend your whole summer vacation watching me limping up and down my battered and overheated caravan and arguing about _The Godfather_. You could be doing far better things."

Sinking back in the hammock, she considered the question, feeding it through the specialised Severus-speak filters she had developed over the last year. "I don't have a hidden agenda, I'm not working up to anything, and it's not out of pity."

He looked almost frustrated, fidgeting with a frayed thread on his jeans. "That isn't what I asked." Which wasn't the same as _I believe you, _she noted.

"Because..." Hermione hesitated, looking at him. Remembering the times he had opened up to her, even if only a little, and the times he had shown that he trusted her (up to a point, at least; certainly more than he trusted anyone else), something snapped in her, and she found herself telling him the absolute truth. "Because I'm lonely, and I enjoy your company."

He blinked, his expression changing from frustrated to surprised and then into a quiet neutrality that somehow conveyed the message that he was listening without passing judgement. She took a breath, and started talking slowly, relieved to finally be able to tell someone.

"Everyone thinks I'm popular. War hero, member of the famous Golden Trio, teacher at the most famous school in the world, one of the most famous witches in the world. It's a lie, all of it. My 'fame' is based on the press hating me, mostly, endlessly discussing who I've been sleeping with or allegedly sleeping with and speculating on who I'll be sleeping with next. The only family I have left are my parents, and not only do they refuse to speak to me but I don't know where they are or even if they're still alive. My work colleagues... they're lovely people, mostly, but most of them taught _me_, and the generation gap makes it difficult. There's so much history that it's hard to just be friends, and I don't have much in common with any of them anyway. The only one I can really talk to is Neville, and he has his own life.

"As for my friends, I never had many. It was always just Harry and Ron, really, and Neville, and much later there was Ginny and Luna. These days... well. I know friendships at boarding school are a bit unnatural, we're all compensating for being separated from home and family. I know things were always going to change once we'd left. But... now they don't need to copy their homework from me any more, it sometimes seems like I'm not needed at all, as if I'm not worth the effort. When we meet up, whenever I try to talk about something happening in my life, it doesn't seem to be important. I'm usually left feeling that I'm not worth listening to, and I hate being made to feel like that. But whenever I try to tell them, I'm made to feel like I'm overreacting. Luna's the only one I can still talk to the way I used to, because normal rules don't apply with her, but I don't see her very often and there are some things she won't understand, although she'd try. She's a good friend still, but we're very different people.

"I... get very lonely, sometimes. Before last year, I could go for days without talking to anyone. Unless Crookshanks counts, and on bad days I think even he gets fed up with listening to me. But with you, it's... different. I don't feel afraid to talk to you. It doesn't feel like I have to monitor my conversations with you. We like a lot of the same things, and it's wonderful to be able to talk about... philosophy, or how attitudes about Transfiguration changed in the fourteenth century, or famous Arithmancers, without feeling like I'm being a – a bookworm, or boring. And even when we're talking about something I don't think you particularly care about, you're polite enough to listen. When we disagree about something you don't automatically assume that I must be wrong; you're willing to hear my reasoning. Talking about my job and what I want to teach, before term ended – you're the first person who's ever actually been interested in my plans, my dreams. Oh, my other friends have been supportive, in their way, but they haven't actually _cared. _I don't know if you care or not, but you showed an interest. When you ask what's bothering me, I know you'll actually listen to the answer; you don't just want me to lie and say that I'm fine.

"So... that's why I'm here, I suppose. Because in a strange way, you're a good friend, and because I'm nearly as isolated as you are, and because I like being here."

There was a very long silence once she had finished speaking. Severus had gone very still, in the strange way he had, and was staring into the distance with a troubled frown. For her part, Hermione felt almost relieved to have finally said aloud what had truthfully been bothering her for years.

Finally he exhaled loudly and said slowly, "Well, it serves you right."

Stunned, she felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, but before she could respond he started speaking again and as he continued she understood some of what she was seeing in his face.

"How dare you spend all that time keeping a pair of morons alive long enough to do something remotely useful? How dare you come up with ways to help save the wizarding world? How dare you endure torture for the sake of them? You selfish bitch, clearly you must be punished. God, I don't understand the world any more!"

He shook his head, anger burning in his black eyes, his voice roughening to a growl. "I _earned _my isolation, through decades of foul deeds, unattractiveness and an unpleasant personality. I cannot fathom how someone like you ended up in the same situation; you're the exact opposite of... Your so-called 'friends' are even stupider than I have always believed, and I didn't think that was humanly possible. Intelligence isn't a crime, and they owe you, more than they could possibly realise."

"'They'?" she asked faintly, caught up in his strange mood. "Who are 'they'?"

"_Everyone!_" he snarled. "Does nobody else realise that without you, the precious Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't have survived to see his twelfth birthday?"

His outrage on her behalf was exactly what she'd needed, and the warmth of it turned every muscle to liquid as she relaxed, losing knots of tension she hadn't even known were there. Abruptly a strange thought occurred to her, and she frowned. "Helping save the world... helping keep Harry alive... enduring horrors for the sake of people who don't care... Severus, you've just described yourself, as well as me."

Caught off guard, he stared at her, the anger fading as he thought about it. Finally he said quietly, "It seems we are both being punished. I was always under the impression that my well-deserved punishment was for my myriad sins, not for my few 'good' deeds – such as they were. But if you are in a similar situation, perhaps I was wrong... _Veritas odium paret._"

"_Veritas _means truth... I didn't get the rest."

"It means 'truth creates hatred.' If this is the reward heroes get, I'd sooner not bother."

"Agreed," she replied wholeheartedly. She'd thought for a very long time that the way he was treated wasn't fair, when without him they'd all be dead or wishing they were dead; it had taken this conversation with him for her to realise that the way she was treated wasn't fair either. She grinned at him, feeling decidedly strange. "I'm starting to see what you were talking about on New Year's Eve."

"Well, I'm usually right, especially when it comes to this particular subject," he told her, standing up and offering a hand. "Come inside. I'll make _sangria. _Do I remember you telling me you'd never seen _Good Morning Vietnam_?"

"That sounds pretty close to perfect," she replied, following him inside and finding the tape on the crowded shelf.

"You've definitely been on your own too long if this is your idea of perfection."

"If other people don't like it, they only have themselves to blame," she told him, starting to laugh – she had never felt like this before, a strange blend of defiance and anger and hatred and disbelieving, resigned humour and something almost like fear, all tainted with bitterness that was almost painful. _Is this how Severus feels all the time?_

She saw in his eyes that he understood exactly how she felt, before he started to laugh as well, his deep rusty laughter blending with hers in the hot summer evening.

* * *

Hermione woke the following day to a pounding headache, a vial of hangover cure on the caravan table, a cushion under her head where she lay on one of the sofas, and the sound of the shower running. Slowly, memories came back – they'd got defiantly, disgustingly drunk, watching terrible films and generally bitching about all their mutual acquaintances (she had learned a number of interesting secrets about various Order members; Kingsley in particular seemed to have quite a colourful personal life, it seemed) before she had eventually passed out.

By the time she had mustered the energy to stumble to the table and drink the potion he'd left for her, Severus had emerged from the shower – fully dressed, to her secret disappointment – and started on breakfast. Mercifully it wasn't as hot as it had been on previous days, and that combined with the relief as her hangover eased left her feeling more or less human.

"Back in the real world?" Severus greeted her sardonically, breaking eggs into a bowl.

"Just about," she agreed ruefully, running her fingers through her hair and grimacing at the tangles. "What on earth was in that stuff? It didn't taste like _sangria _to me."

"It was the cheap version of _sangria. _Red wine, orange juice and lemonade. Mostly just wine, by the end. Cheap wine always produces hangovers – when you drink as much as we did, anyway." He pointed towards the open door; frowning, Hermione looked outside, and blinked at the sight of a box piled high with empty bottles.

"We drank that much? I'm surprised I woke up at all."

"They aren't all from last night, but most of them are."

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. You shouldn't have encouraged me, though." Feeling better, she padded into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast?"

"French toast?"

"Fantastic. Can I borrow your bathroom again? I need to brush my teeth."

"You know where everything is."

"After breakfast I need to go and apologise to Crookshanks. I won't be long."

* * *

_The next chapter is one of the most important ones in the whole story...  
_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Warning: **The rating has gone up to M for a reason. There will be lemons from this point onwards. If you do not want to read smut, message me and we can work something out. If you're underage and reading this anyway, it's not my responsibility, but I won't tell anyone. Enjoy.  


* * *

_

**"****It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning  
****There was fog crawling over the sand  
When I listen to your heart I hear the whole world turning  
I see the shooting stars falling through your trembling hands.****"**  
– Meat Loaf, 'Hot Summer Night (You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth)'.

* * *

That afternoon she arrived back at the caravan again and found Severus reading in the sun. "Sorry I'm so late."

"I thought you only had to feed your cat," he replied neutrally.

"I had a bath and washed my hair as well. I needed it, I looked ghastly."

"I wouldn't say that," he replied indistinctly and mostly under his breath, standing up at the same time and going inside to get a bottle of cold water from the fridge.

Staring after him, Hermione mentally shook herself and followed. She had been about to let it drop, as she had several other comments that he hadn't intended her to hear, until it occurred to her that if he _truly _hadn't intended her to hear them, then he wouldn't have said anything. This was Severus Snape, and he didn't speak without thinking; after so long, she wasn't sure he could. "What _would _you say, then?" she challenged him, watching his shoulders tense as he stood in front of the fridge with his back to her.

As ever, he recovered well, straightening and replying calmly, "I wouldn't say anything at all on the subject." Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by the smooth recovery. She should have let it go then and accepted his reply, but... he had allowed her to overhear it for a reason, and she was simply too stubborn to give up so easily.

"What if I asked for your opinion?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer her immediately, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of water nonchalantly and acting as though it was mere coincidence that he was avoiding her eyes. She had the feeling that his mind was racing. If, as she thought, he _had _wanted her to respond to what he had said, he seemed not to have worked out what to say next. "Surely you are not so insecure that you feel the need to question every male in your vicinity about your looks?" he drawled finally.

"I'm not asking every male in the vicinity," she replied quietly, taking a step closer. "I'm asking you."

"It's the same thing, given where we are standing," he said impatiently.

"It isn't, and you know it," she corrected him.

He sighed theatrically, looking utterly bored; not for the first time, Hermione appreciated the irony of so much about him. If he looked bored, it usually meant he was off balance and trying to hide it, buying himself time to think, whereas if he was _actually _bored, he usually looked mildly interested. Talking to him could be very difficult, sometimes. "If you must insist on fishing for compliments, then fine. Inasmuch as I am in any position to judge, you looked as well as anyone could expect given that you had a hangover and had spent the night passed out on the sofa, and far better than most people could manage in that situation. Does that satisfy you?"

Countering his question with one of her own, she asked, "Did you know that your voice changes when you're hiding something? You speak more formally, more carefully."

His eyes hardened, but after all this time she knew enough to read the signs. This too was a defence mechanism; he wasn't genuinely angry but scrambling for balance and suddenly, painfully uncertain. "Fascinating. And I suppose you have a theory as to what I am supposedly hiding?" he spat.

"I have one or two ideas, yes," she replied carefully. The last thing she wanted was to push him into lashing out at her, but she was desperate to speak to the _real _Severus and not the mask he used out of sheer reflex. After a moment she added cautiously, "None of them are... unwelcome."

He was silent, and clearly had no idea what to say. Nor did she, but if neither of them spoke then this would all fall apart and the quiet friendship they had shared would become awkward and painful. Slowly, she moved a little closer, taking care to keep a little distance between them. If she crowded him now, there was no knowing what sort of explosion might result. "I thought once that it said a lot about me, that you would open up to me as much as you did, that you trusted me enough to let me see something real," she said quietly. "That lasted until I realised how stupid and arrogant it was. It had nothing to do with me, not really. Anyone could take the time to learn how to read you... if they cared enough about you to try. That's just it, isn't it, Severus? Nobody ever cared about _you, _as a person. Only what you could do for them. And I know what that feels like only too well."

The familiar black eyes avoided hers, after one almost frantic glance; Severus looked extremely tense, but it was a mark of the fragile trust that now existed between them that he didn't try to run from the conversation the way he had on the Astronomy Tower. He looked down at the ground, his hair falling forward to hide his face, and she barely heard it when he did reply. "That is certainly part of it... but it isn't the whole truth..."

"It isn't? Then what is?" she asked softly.

"It still had – has – a great deal to do with you. Were you anything other than what you are, you would not care, and the question would be entirely academic."

"That runs both ways, Severus. I told you only yesterday you were the first person to really take an interest in what I wanted to do with my life. We're more alike than either of us realised."

"You're nothing like me, fortunately for you."

"Don't say that. You're not a bad man, Severus. You're not the man most people think you are. You're certainly not the man _you _think you are. And I see nothing shameful in being like you. I wish I was more so."

His head came up sharply, startled, and he stared at her; but she meant every word. She couldn't believe that things had actually come to this. _Gryffindor courage, Hermione... _Now she did move closer, into that fragile space between them, meeting his gaze and refusing to look away. _Courage. _

When she touched his face, he flinched, but he didn't pull away and he didn't tell her to stop. Wishing vaguely that her hands weren't shaking, she ran her fingers into his hair, pushing it back so that she could see his face. The black hair felt soft under her hands; the thin streak of white that marked a scar was slightly coarser by contrast. He seemed to have stopped breathing completely, and his eyes held such a complex blend of emotions that Hermione couldn't even begin to read his expression, but the tension in his body was unmistakeable as he looked down at her.

They stood frozen for a moment that seemed to last for hours, staring at one another in complete silence, before she very gently tightened her fingers in his hair and rose on tiptoe, drawing his head down. For a brief moment she thought he would resist, or pull away, and this would all fall apart around them; but he yielded to the slight pressure of her hands and lowered his head, and their lips met. He was still for an instant longer before she felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek as he exhaled, and his mouth moved tentatively against hers.

After the first moments of sweet awkwardness that occurred when kissing someone for the first time, they found the right angle, and she discovered that Severus was a very good kisser. Not that it was much of a surprise, the small part of her brain that was still aware reflected; he was like her, utterly obsessive, and would never do anything unless he was sure of being good at it. The thought dissolved as she concentrated on the sensations of the kiss and the heat flowing through her.

He was gentler than she would have expected, careful and almost hesitant. His arms came up, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders rather than gripping her, and when his lips parted he traced her lower lip with his tongue, asking rather than demanding. That was a welcome courtesy, and she opened to him without hesitation, closing her eyes as his tongue entered her mouth and the kiss deepened. He tasted of molasses, almost, something dark and slightly sweet with a distinctly bitter undertone reminiscent of burnt sugar, and faintly cutting through that was another taste that was cool and clean and pure. Unconsciously she moved closer, pressing against the heat of his body, and kissed him back in the same way he was kissing her – a slow, careful and thorough exploration, memorising the feel of his mouth and the taste of him. He even had a scar on the roof of his mouth; andhe was missing a tooth, she discovered, one of the upper left molars, and she traced the gap with her tongue for a moment before drawing back and letting him take the lead once more.

His hands moved, slowly; one tangled in her hair, cradling her skull, and the other slid down her back, drawing her more tightly against him. Shifting closer, she slid a leg between his thighs and felt a dizzy thrill of desire when she felt his body responding to her, revelling in the absolute proof that he really did want her. They drew apart for a moment and stared wordlessly at one another, both of them breathing harder and faster; she had never dreamed those cold black eyes could hold such heat, such raw need. They came together once more, kissing more fiercely now, and she felt him harden against her as her hands moved lower and slid beneath his shirt. He stiffened then, breaking the kiss, and she stilled against him, looking up at him, acutely aware of the scar tissue she could feel beneath her hands.

Severus gripped her shoulders gently and pushed her back a step, the heat in his eyes fading a little. "Stop," he said softly. It might have sounded more sincere had his voice not been reduced to a husky purr that sent a shiver of pure lust through her. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Yes, I do," she replied, trying not to sound too breathless. "We both need this, Severus." He shivered when she said his name. "I want this; I want you. And I can tell you want me."

"That's not..." He was struggling for words now. "You don't want _me. _You don't know... Damnit." He paused and took a breath, letting it out slowly. "You don't know what it is you're asking for."

"I don't understand..." Hermione said slowly, starting to feel cold. Was he really rejecting her?

"I... Just look." He stepped away from the fridge door, and she let him, unsure what he was trying to say. Reaching down, he seized the hem of his shirt and jerked it over his head in one harsh motion, letting it fall.

She looked at him silently. He was thin, the contours of his rib cage and his hip bones clearly visible, but there was muscle there as well. Black hair curled sparsely over his chest, dwindling to a thin line that led down his stomach beneath the waistband of his jeans to the obvious swell of his erection; he was wearing the yin-yang necklace still. But what drew her eyes, what he had meant her to see, were the scars; she already knew about some of them, but there were others. A couple snaked across his collarbone and over his shoulder; the worst one made a deep furrow through his chest hair; a jagged one cut across the muscles of his stomach; smaller ones marked his ribs and his arms. Without the shirt as camouflage, the bite marks on his neck stood out clearly against his pale skin. Slowly, not looking at her, he turned around.

Hermione had known when she felt the scars under her hands that his back was marked quite badly, but as her eyes traced the reality she could barely take it in. At first glance there didn't seem to be an inch of unscarred skin, but after a moment she began to notice individual marks. They were worst across his shoulders, horizontal crooked lines that looked like they had been inflicted with a whip or something similar; a long furrow raked its way down one shoulder blade; a rounded, puckered scar marked the other; something like claw marks were visible on his lower back, that must have been the ones she had felt; and dozens of smaller marks in between, some of which looked like burns, some that were clearly hex scars, and others – she went cold; oh, God. Someone – maybe more than one person – had sliced aimless patterns into his skin; it looked like they had been doodling on him... with knives.

She could have wept for him then, under different and less intense circumstances, just because of how much he must have suffered, but it was nothing compared to his expression when he turned to look at her once more. His face had shut down, a stiff mask hiding any trace of emotion but for a faintly resigned expression as he waited for her to recoil, to leave, or – probably worst of all from his point of view – to pity him. Still, his guard was down after their intense kisses, and he couldn't quite hide the fragile look in his eyes; he was also still quite plainly aroused. Hermione understood; he wasn't rejecting her, he was waiting for _her _to reject _him. _He had just opened himself to her, let her see everything, shown her trust he had shown nobody else, and he was waiting for her to abandon him because of it.

And, suddenly, she knew what to say in response. She walked to him once more and stood looking up at him, resting a hand on his chest. "After Bill Weasley was attacked by Fenrir Greyback, we all thought his fiancée would leave him," she said quietly. He looked badly confused, as well he might, but this was relevant and she gave him no chance to comment as she continued. "But Fleur surprised us all. I remember what she said in the hospital... I can't do the accent, but she said, 'All that these scars show is that my husband is brave'."

She watched his expression change as he realised what she was saying, saw the fragile, uncertain hope in his eyes, and smiled gently at him. "These scars show your bravery, Severus, that's all. They're badges of honour, every one of them." Slowly she took her hand from his chest and laid her fingers on his left wrist, grasping his hand and turning his arm to expose the Dark Mark. "Even this one," she said softly, and bent her head and pressed her lips to the skull in a gentle kiss. He shuddered, and when she drew back his eyes were closed. They opened slowly, filled with raw need, and he stared at her almost pleadingly. No longer nervous, she smiled at him. "I have scars, too," she half-whispered. "Want to see?"

Severus was almost visibly trembling now. The mask had slipped, and she clearly saw the moment when he abruptly stopped fighting and allowed himself to give in. "Yes." The word was almost a sigh. He reached for her and drew her close against him once more, and as he kissed her she let her hands wander across his body, exploring from scars to unblemished skin and back again as the kiss grew deeper and hunger began to burn through them both.

It had been so long since anyone had looked at her with desire, longer still since she had felt desire in return, and she wasn't sure any man had ever kissed her so gently and yet so thoroughly. His hands slid down her spine, pressing her closer against his erection, before he shifted his weight; the tensing of his muscles was the only warning she had before he lifted her off the ground. Clutching his shoulders to steady herself, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist; neither of them broke the kiss as he pushed her against the side of the cupboard, his tongue sliding and playing against hers.

When they came up for air, he bent his head lower, his lips tracing her neck and her throat; his tongue circled her pulse and she shuddered before she felt the faint pressure of his teeth as, guided by her response, he nibbled expertly at the spot under her jaw that sent electricity through her body. She couldn't stop the moan that rose in the back of her throat and didn't even try, feeling him shiver before she wound her fingers into his hair once more and kissed him again. He moved and ground himself against her, his kisses rougher now, before his arms tightened and he straightened, carrying her down the length of the caravan in a few swift strides and entering his bedroom.

Distantly Hermione was aware of both external doors swinging shut and broke the kiss long enough to say breathlessly, "If you can concentrate enough for wandless non-verbal magic, I must be doing something wrong."

He laughed at that, softly, looking at her with warmth in his eyes. "I didn't do it consciously. In fact, I had forgotten the doors were open. I assure you... what you are doing to me is most definitely not wrong." That was nice to know, she decided, but then he was kissing her again and it ceased to matter any more as he lowered her to the bed.

She broke away and half sat up, reaching for the buttons of her blouse; he caught her hands, stopping her, and when she looked at him he whispered, "Allow me." Yielding, she watched his face as he slowly undid each button, taking his time – teasing himself as much as her, by the look in his eyes – before equally slowly pushing the garment off her shoulders. She might have felt self-conscious then, but there wasn't enough left in the small rational corner of her mind to allow the thought to form, and all that mattered was the heat of his skin as he began to touch her. The long, shallow scar on her chest drew his attention, but he didn't ask about it; instead he followed it with lips, teeth and tongue, from where it started below her collarbone across her sternum to where it ended just above her bra, before returning his attention to her throat and eventually finding her mouth once more.

It was almost impossible to think; she was drowning in pure desire, burning, aching with it and only vaguely aware of his fingers tracing down her side to her waist, undoing her belt. Once it registered, she helped him, arching her back as he slid her trousers down over her hips before she kicked them away, more interested in kissing him. He was lying on the bed with her by that point; she couldn't get close enough, still too many clothes in the way, and sat up to unfasten her bra. Watching his face, she drew it away from her and let it fall, loving the almost awed look in his eyes that could truly make her believe that she was beautiful.

Slowly Severus reached out and drew her back down to him, both of them shuddering as her bare breasts met his skin, before he rolled them both to lay her on her back. He kissed her again before beginning to trace a frustratingly slow path from her lips down her neck, across her collarbone, trailing down along her scar and lingering for a long moment before finally kissing the curves of her breasts. The first light brush of his tongue across her nipple sent fire leaping through her and she moaned, arching her back; she felt him smile against her skin as his lips closed over the hardened point and he sucked gently, the sensation making her whole body react. His hand cupped her other breast, his fingers teasing the nipple, and she buried her fingers in his hair to ensure that he didn't move away.

Eventually, however, he did pull away, and his lips found hers once more as his hand continued to trail lower down her body, gliding over the curve of her hip and down the outside of her thigh. Deepening the kiss, she shifted her hips in anticipation of his touch, knowing that she was more than ready for him. The contact when it finally came was maddeningly light, the faintest brush of one fingertip through her knickers, and she almost whimpered in frustration before half-growling, "Severus... stop bloody _teasing!_"

He chuckled softly deep in his throat, looking down at her with his eyes glittering. "Patience..." he purred, and just the sound of his voice sent shudders of pleasure rippling through her. Struggling to hold still, she arched against him as his fingers slid beneath the thin fabric and slowly removed the last of her clothing before he drew away a little and simply looked at her; she could practically feel his intent gaze as a tangible pressure against her skin, and his eyes were burning.

Finally, _finally, _he began to touch her the way she wanted, his fingers delving between her legs, and she writhed under his touch as he stroked her; when at last he slid a finger inside her, she cried out. A second finger joined the first, and he turned his hand to bring his thumb to rub against her as his fingers moved. It didn't take long; she was right on the edge and in only a few moments she heard herself crying out again as she arched her back, bucking against his hand as ecstasy blazed through her.

Recovering slowly, Hermione bit back a whimper as he withdrew his hand, and opened her eyes to see him slowly and deliberately sucking his fingers clean with his eyes never leaving hers. It was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen, and when he kissed her again she could taste herself in his mouth. This was pure heaven, but the ache between her legs was torture; hopefully, they could continue playing later, if this worked out in a way that would guarantee a repeat performance, but right now she wanted – needed – him inside her, and she pushed at him until he yielded and rolled onto his back.

Severus was almost painfully hard as she touched him gently through his jeans, tracing his length with her fingertips as he shuddered beneath her, the kind of hardness you only got through years of denial. Undoing his belt, she almost laughed when she realised that his jeans were button-fly; it was so absolutely typical of him. Then again, it was probably just as well; frantic lust and zips in sensitive areas weren't the best combination. His fingers brushed hers as he tried to help her, fumbling and almost clumsy in his haste as he struggled out of his jeans; his legs had scars too, she noticed vaguely, but she wasn't really interested at the moment as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and helped him remove them.

He was beautiful; there was no other word for it. Summer sunlight came streaming through the window, highlighting every contour of his body and touching the glistening head of his erection. Reaching out, she gently but firmly wrapped her hand around his shaft, and his back arched as he moaned. It seemed the old stereotypes were true; he was magnificent, long and thick and so hard that she could feel his pulse as she gripped him before beginning to move her hand in slow strokes, guiding herself by his responses.

Breathless and gasping, he caught her wrist. "Enough," he panted, trembling as he stared at her.

"Too much?"

"God... Almost." Coherent speech became impossible then; he kissed her fiercely now, giving in at last to the heat burning through them both, and rolled on top of her to pin her beneath his weight. She spread her legs for him, shuddering and holding back a moan as she felt his erection against her; he pressed close enough that the head of him was almost – but not quite – entering her before he paused, looking down at her.

"Please," she whispered, pushing his hair back from his face and staring into the dark, endless depths of his eyes. "_Please_, Severus."

He shivered, shifted his weight a little, and slid into her in one smooth thrust that had them both crying out. Buried completely inside her at last, he stilled, trembling, both of them glorying in the feeling; then he began to move, and all coherent thought dissolved into pure sensation. This was different to any man she had been with before; even the slightest movements sent fire through her. It took a few minutes for her to work out why, as she tried to think through the building waves of pleasure; because his bad knee was so inflexible, he was moving with an odd rolling motion, and every thrust touched slightly different places inside her, so the stimulus was always new. That, combined with the knowledge of just _who _was taking her so deeply, was almost overwhelming.

Lost in sensation, there were only vague impressions – the warm sunlight filling the room; the friction of sweat-slicked skin on skin; the sound of increasingly heavy breathing; his hair brushing her face before he lifted his head to look down at her; the feel of him so deeply inside her that it was almost too much to bear; the growing sense of pressure and fire building until she was right on the edge and shaking with the feeling. Then that careful rolling rhythm of his thrusts faltered; Severus closed his eyes for a moment and groaned thickly, all control gone and no restraint now as he started moving more erratically, harder and faster.

Every movement sent a pulse of pleasure through her body, and then he shifted slightly and caught just the right place and the world dissolved as she came with a cry that was almost a scream of sheer ecstasy. Mere heartbeats later as the last waves of her orgasm shook her, she heard his almost agonised cry above her; thrusting one last time, he froze and shuddered as he spilled himself into her.

Her vision returned in stages as the haze slowly cleared. He had half-collapsed, catching himself just shy of crushing her; she felt his hot breath against her neck as he panted. After a few moments, he slowly eased himself up, withdrawing from her and rolling to one side; shivering at the loss as his body left hers, Hermione rolled over and curled close against him, resting her head on his chest without thinking. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed and slid an arm around her; sighing contentedly, she nestled closer and closed her eyes, listening to his breathing slowly returning to normal.

After what seemed an eternity, he sighed, his fingers absently toying with an errant lock of hair. She dreaded to think what her hair looked like at the moment, but he didn't seem to mind. "It has been... a very long time for me," he said softly.

It took her a moment to work out what he was really saying – or asking, rather – and she almost laughed; that would have been a fatal mistake, possibly literally, but for him to be insecure about _this _was ridiculous, really. "For me, too," she replied when the urge had passed, "but it didn't show. You were wonderful."

He relaxed a little more and made a pleased sound in his throat. "Allow me to return the compliment," he murmured, shifting slightly and settling. She drifted for a while, half-dozing in the warmth of the sun shining through the window and the warmth of his body, and was giving serious thought to going to sleep properly when he spoke again, a little more hesitantly now. "Hermione... what is this?"

Not something she wanted to discuss right now, not when she was still enjoying the lingering afterglow, but at least he sounded apprehensive and uncertain rather than suspicious and defensive. She considered her words carefully, not entirely certain of what to say, and opted for the truth. "I'm not sure," she admitted softly. "Something we both needed, badly. Something we both enjoyed. Something I wouldn't mind repeating," she added bravely. "I don't know if it has to be anything more than that." She wasn't in love with him, she knew that much; she wasn't sure that was possible for her any more, and possibly for him it never had been. But she cared for him, and was reasonably sure that he cared for her at least a little, and their mutual passion seemed to be surprisingly strong. For now, that was enough.

"That sounds... acceptable," he said carefully, and she couldn't help laughing, lifting her head to look at him.

"'Acceptable'?" she repeated.

He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed; there was a brief flash of something harsh and ugly in his eyes as she laughed, but it faded and a hint of humour softened his expression. "A poor choice of words. I find myself struggling to think as clearly as I usually do, for some strange reason," he teased, and she grinned at him.

"Good." She settled down once more and closed her eyes again, wondering vaguely if this was what they meant by 'friends with benefits' or not and musing that this was certainly going to be the strangest relationship she had ever had, if you could call it a relationship. Whatever it was, she had told him the truth; it was something they both needed. Everyone needed to feel wanted.

"Shit," she said suddenly, jolted out of her drowsy reflection by an unpleasant thought.

"What?" he asked warily.

"We didn't use anything," she muttered, fumbling for her wand.

"Oh, is that all." He relaxed once more. "Don't worry about it."

"Severus..."

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You really have scrambled my brains this afternoon." He didn't sound as if he minded, though. After a moment he continued, sounding slightly more awake, if slightly less happy. "Contraception is not an issue... I am unable to have children."

"What?" she exclaimed, drawing away and pushing herself up on one elbow to look at him.

"One of Poppy Pomfrey's diagnostic charms picked up on it during a health check, back when I still let her run them. I have known since I was young."

"The Healers couldn't do anything?"

"No. Nobody could work out the cause." He shrugged and stretched lazily, apparently genuinely indifferent, and continued idly, "I never wished to father children anyway."

"Oh, Severus..." she said softly.

He frowned at her. "What? I mean it. I never wanted children."

"That's not the point, though, is it? It's just something else you never had any choice about." He blinked slowly and didn't answer, which was all the indication she would get that she had struck home. Leaning over, she kissed him gently before curling up against him once more. "Well, it's one less thing to worry about now, I suppose," she remarked more lightly, absently tracing the cord of his necklace with a fingertip as his arm settled around her again. "So what exactly happened? I mean, clearly everything still works, and works rather well, in fact..."

He chuckled softly. "I doubt I would be so accepting if that were the problem," he agreed wryly. "I have no idea, frankly. Perhaps spell damage again – not the Cruciatus this time, though, I was too young for that – but it could just as easily be something genetic. I'm infertile; completely sterile. Firing blanks, as my father would no doubt have phrased it."

"Charming."

"He was a charming sort of man," Severus agreed sardonically, before stifling a yawn and shifting into a more comfortable position. "I hope you realise this will throw my already erratic sleeping patterns off completely."

"My humble apologies," she replied through a yawn of her own. "It's your terrible influence at work, you know. I would never have dreamed of spending a decadent afternoon having very good sex if it weren't for you."

"I could get used to it," he said drowsily.

"Me too," she agreed, snuggling closer.

After a few minutes Hermione realised that she was unthinkingly tracing some of his scars with her fingertips and hastily stopped, murmuring an apology. "It's all right," he replied softly; she felt the vibration of laughter in his chest. "Under the circumstances it would make no sense to worry about being touched," he added ironically, and she smiled, glancing at him to make sure he was really okay with it before returning to her curious exploration.

"How did... I mean... never mind," she finished hastily, realising there was no tactful way to ask how he'd got his scars.

"No, it's fine." He sounded slightly more awake now, but he made no attempt to move; she could feel his fingers idly winding through her hair once more. "I don't remember a lot of them any more, to be honest. And most of the ones I _do _remember, I have no intention of telling you, because you don't need to hear it and I don't need to say it. It's fairly obvious with most of them anyway... they are almost all combat scars, or punishment scars. Some of them were just work accidents, burns from potions and so on, or from childhood incidents. And some – quite a few, really – I gained during my travels. Mostly in bar fights."

"Bar fights?" she repeated incredulously, not sure what was most surprising about that statement. She had a very hard time picturing Severus in a pub at all, let alone getting into a brawl. "Why were you in bar fights, plural?"

"Because I was borderline psychotic," he replied in a matter of fact tone, "and people tended to take exception to a violent drunk ranting and screaming at them. Most of them were fights I started, and most of those were because I thought I'd seen someone I knew and was trying to kill them. I told you, Hermione, I have changed a great deal since the war. I was dangerously unstable for a long time; I hallucinated frequently, I had screaming panic attacks, I was phobic of just about everything you can imagine and my emotions were skewed all over the place. Fortunately for all concerned, I wasn't able to do magic during the worst times, or God knows what might have happened."

She wasn't sure what to say to that, and settled for asking plaintively, "Don't you have any scars with _funny_ stories attached to them? I've got one on my knee from when I fell off a swing when I was six..."

He chuckled softly and shifted slightly. "Well, there is one on my right leg that I'm almost proud of, in a strange way; a bite on my calf that you might recognise..."

He left it hanging and she frowned, thinking about it and trying to recall a time when she knew he'd hurt his leg. After a few moments she grinned, stifling a giggle. "Fluffy?"

"Of all the ridiculous names for a cerberus," he said scornfully. "Yes, 'Fluffy'. It's a miracle I didn't lose my leg. The stupid brute tried to bite with two of its heads at the same time and got in its own way, or it would have been a different story."

"And you're proud of it?"

"I'm probably the only person who has a scar from a cerberus bite," he pointed out mildly. "Most people who are bitten don't manage to survive."

"I suppose that's true," she agreed, smiling and absently playing with his necklace; she still thought it was sweet that he was wearing it. It wasn't as if it had been expensive or was even particularly well made, not like her ring. "Severus, I've been meaning to ask you something..."

"Really? You astonish me."

She poked him in the ribs. "Git. I wanted to ask about my Christmas present. It still doesn't really seem like you..."

"True," he agreed, sounding amused. "It was very much an impulse purchase. I was wandering around Camden Market and stopped to look at a jewellery stall out of idle curiosity; when I saw the otter it was so appropriate that it seemed a shame _not _to buy it. Once I had, well, it was certainly of no use to me, so I decided that I would give it to you at some point. It would have been your birthday present, but I changed my mind at the last minute." After a pause he added wryly, "It made sense at the time."

"Fair enough." She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but it sounded plausible enough that she wasn't going to challenge him. Anyway, she definitely didn't want to start an argument now. She didn't want to do anything, really. "I'm going to need a shower again," she murmured. "I probably look worse than I did this morning."

Severus snorted and replied with some amusement, "Isn't that what started this in the first place?"

Lifting her head, she grinned at him. "I liked the result."

"You should remember I'm an old man."

"You are no such thing. Anyway, all I said was that I needed a shower. I didn't mention you at all."

"It's my shower," he pointed out, his eyes glittering with dark laughter and a hint of the earlier heat.

Smothering a smile, Hermione began tracing a scar again, following the line of it across his stomach. "That's a good point," she agreed mildly, feeling him shiver as she ran her fingers lightly across his hipbone. "You're too thin, you know," she added absently.

"You sound like either Poppy Pomfrey or Molly Weasley, and as I have no desire to think about either of them in these particular circumstances I'll thank you to stop it," he responded tartly. "In any case, I am in better shape now than I have ever been."

"I noticed," she replied teasingly, tracing small circles on the inside of his thigh.

"Stop that," he murmured reprovingly.

"Why?" she asked innocently. "Are you ticklish or something?"

"No," he replied, too quickly. She stared at him in incredulous delight and he scowled. "Don't even think about it."

"Too late."

"I mean it, Hermione. Don't."

Caught by the definite note of warning in his voice, and aware that her fingers had found what felt like quite a bad scar on his inner thigh, she kept her tone light as she drew a path back towards his hip. "All right, I won't – not unless you really annoy me, anyway, which right now doesn't seem terribly likely." Whatever had triggered the brief darkness in his voice, he relaxed now, and he was starting to respond to her touch. She was more than happy with the idea of a second round, but she felt sticky and the caravan was getting stiflingly hot with the doors closed. "Come on, 'old man'," she said mischievously, drawing away with some reluctance and sitting up, "we both need a shower. Unless you need more time to recover?" she added challengingly, looking back at him.

The heat in his eyes was all the answer she needed, really, but his growl made her smile as he sat up. "Impudent wench. Show some respect for your elders." Stark naked, sweaty and with his hair a stringy mass of damp tangles, he shouldn't manage to look dangerous, but somehow he had the confidence to manage it. Hermione raised an eyebrow when he retrieved his wand from his discarded jeans.

"Is that necessary?"

"I always keep it where I can reach it," he replied, before arching an eyebrow at her in return, a hint of a smirk crossing his face. "Besides, by the time you were thirteen you had managed to set fire to me, steal from me and Stun me – throwing me into a wall at the same time, giving me a mild concussion and almost fracturing my skull, incidentally. I might need it."

Sputtering an indignant laugh, she stood up. "That's hardly fair! I set fire to your robe, not you, and I only did it because I thought you were evil and trying to kill my friend. I stole from you because I needed the Potions ingredients, it wasn't personal..." He cut her off by the simple method of kissing her quite thoroughly, and by the time he drew away she had almost forgotten what they had been talking about. "...And that's cheating," she scolded breathlessly.

His rich, deep chuckle slid down her spine and made her shiver. "I always cheat, Hermione. You would do well to remember that." Limping out of the room, his voice reached her from the bathroom. "And the Stunning spell?"

"Wasn't a Stunner at all," she replied, following him and smiling ruefully at the memory. "We all tried to Disarm you at the same time, and the force of it threw you into the wall. None of us actually intended to harm you. Really, a concussion?" she added guiltily.

"Hmph," he responded absently, putting his wand on the shelf and switching the shower on. "Yes. And it is probably just as well you did Stun me, accident or not. I wasn't terribly rational that night."

That was probably the closest he would get to an apology, and more than she had been expecting. "I don't blame you. In that situation, I doubt anyone would have been rational," she said gently, reaching past him to check the temperature of the water before stepping into the stall and tilting her head back under the spray. "And it was a bit of a strange night all around, really," she added reminiscently.

"By your standards, I would have thought it fairly normal," Severus replied with a smirk, following her into the shower. "You – all of you – managed to attract trouble more or less continuously."

"It seems some of us still do," she answered, turning to smile at him. "On the whole, I like this kind better."

His only answer was a soft laugh as he reached for the shampoo, and he surprised her by sliding past to stand behind her and starting to work the soap into her wet hair. It was an unexpectedly tender gesture, and one she appreciated; the sensation of someone else washing your hair was one of the most relaxing feelings in the world. It seemed he shared her opinion, since he allowed her to return the favour with no more than a token grumble, and by the time they had finished washing one another's bodies as well – for some odd reason, it seemed to take much longer than usual – all nostalgic talk of the past had given way to the very present as desire rose in them both once more. Leaning back against him, she felt his erection pressing against her and smiled, turning her head to meet his kiss.

Where the first time had been all about need and heat and fierce hunger, this was slow and gentle, as he finally lifted her onto him and she braced herself against the wall of the shower, wrapping her legs around his waist and moving slowly with him as they kissed. His lame leg didn't affect his movements so noticeably in this position, insofar as she could notice anything at all but the building fire inside her. Her climax too was less volatile; no stars or near-blackout this time, only waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew her sighs and moans into soft cries that mingled with his groan as he came with her.

* * *

Afterwards – quite a long time afterwards – they lay stretched out on his bed in the sun, talking softly, both close enough to dressed to pass muster should anyone walk past the now-open door of the caravan. "Are you really ticklish?" she asked idly, tracing shapes on the back of his forearm with a finger.

"If that's what you want to call it," he replied absently. "I never used to be, but since my nerves were repaired, I seem to be more sensitive."

"And you clearly hate being tickled... I'm not trying to pry; I just want to make sure I won't do something you don't want."

"It's not the act but the principle," he explained awkwardly, watching her fingers to avoid meeting her eyes. "There are several unpleasant associations with being made to feel sensation against my will, even something as innocent as that... Being so vulnerable – in any way – is incredibly uncomfortable, and almost... almost frightening."

That admission had clearly cost him dearly, and she moved closer to lean against his shoulder by way of comfort and apology, at the same time trying to keep her tone light. "Okay, so, no tickle fights. Fair enough. You'd probably win anyway, I'm horribly sensitive. Is there anything else we should avoid?"

He sounded almost amused. "You're questioning me on my sexual preferences? That's not exactly the most romantic subject in the world."

"Neither of us have any romantic tendencies, Severus. You're too cynical, and I'm too practical. I'd rather know what to avoid in advance, rather than try something and have you either freak out or lose your temper," she replied reasonably. "It's not as if I'm planning anything wildly deviant or exotic, but better safe than sorry."

"You're assuming rather a lot here, you know," he drawled.

Hermione smirked at him. "And yet, you don't appear to be arguing."

"Touché." He settled more comfortably against the pillows and considered the question. "I've never been into much beyond vanilla sex, frankly. It all seems rather unnecessary."

"True," she agreed, smiling at the description.

After a moment his eyes darkened a little and he exhaled slowly. "I don't find any kind of dominance and submission games pleasant, for obvious reasons, no matter which side of the scale I'm on."

"Don't worry, I'm definitely not harbouring secret repressed teacher-student detention fantasies," she assured him (mostly truthfully, although not entirely), and he looked at her with a faintly revolted expression.

"I am very relieved to hear it," he replied dryly, shivering a little. "That would be extremely disturbing."

She agreed wholeheartedly with that. She had certainly never fancied him when he had been her teacher; she had appreciated his intelligence and the potential of his voice, and grudgingly admired his bravery during the war before he had killed Dumbledore, but beyond that both his looks and his personality had been too unpleasant for any such thoughts to enter her head. And she was absolutely certain he had never entertained such thoughts about any of his students, certainly not the bushy-haired, buck-toothed, irritating know-it-all friend of Harry Potter. The age difference wasn't a problem now, but it would have been too much back then, even had the emotional circumstances for both of them been different.

"I should also warn you," Severus now continued carefully, "that any attempt at bondage will almost certainly cause me to 'freak out', as you put it. I do not react well to restraints of any kind."

"I've never been into that," she replied reassuringly, certain that she didn't want to know the story behind the shadows in his eyes now. "I think we're fairly compatible on that score, then. And no pain, I assume."

"Ah. Now _that _rather depends on the context." He rolled onto his back, looking more relaxed as the darkness in his face receded. "Certainly not pain as a fetish... but accidental pain isn't necessarily a problem."

"Accidental pain?" she repeated, puzzled.

He smirked at her. "Indeed. I believe you may have marked my back with your nails earlier."

"Oh, God, did I? I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That's my point. I am not into pain, but I do not object to a certain level of... enthusiasm. In fact, it's quite a compliment," he murmured slyly.

Hermione knew she was blushing, and scowled at him. "Git."

"You did ask."

"That will teach me."

He burst out laughing, a rare spontaneous display of unguarded emotion. "Oh, Hermione, the day you stop asking questions will be the day the sun implodes."

* * *

_Well now...  
_


	15. Chapter 15

_More smut, I'm afraid. Also some angst and mention of abuse... followed by a little bit of actual plot! And then more smut.  


* * *

_

**"****Familiarity is the thing - the sense of belonging. It grants exemption from all evil, all shabbiness****.****"**  
– E B White.

* * *

When she woke up, it was pitch black, and Hermione felt disorientated for a moment. This wasn't her room; the sheets felt different, and the warm stuffy air smelled of... well, sex, mostly, but other scents as well, that unique smoky, coppery and herbal scent of rain. Memories came flooding back, and she smiled sleepily in the darkness, savouring the lingering pleasant ache that proved it hadn't been a dream after all. Now that she was more awake, she could feel the warmth of another body at her back, and hear slow and even breathing. Severus was spooned against her, his arm draped loosely over her waist, apparently deeply asleep still.

In fact, he was pressed quite closely against her, and a warm shiver slid down her back as she became aware of him. _Oh. _Good_ morning, Severus. _Sternly resisting the urge to wriggle or shift back against him, she turned her attention to wondering whether it actually _was _morning. It was almost certainly after midnight, because she felt surprisingly well rested considering yesterday's... exertions... and so had presumably had plenty of sleep, but she had no idea what the actual time was and certainly had no intention of getting up to try and find out.

She had plenty to think about. About the only thing she was certain of was that she didn't regret one second of yesterday, but until he woke up she couldn't say the same about Severus. A few hours ago he had seemed cautiously willing to continue this – whatever _this _actually was – but that didn't mean he would feel the same in the cold light of day. Once the afterglow had faded, it was possible he would change his mind. If he did, that would be the end of everything that currently existed between them. No doubt there were plenty of people who could switch from friends to lovers and back again without disturbing the status quo, but she wasn't one of them – just look at her and Ron – and she very much doubted that he was either.

And if he _hadn't_ changed his mind, that still gave rise to a whole new line of questions. Spending the remainder of the summer lazing around the caravan and making love in the sun sounded like heaven, but what would happen in September when term started again? There was no actual rule against relationships between staff members as long as it was discreet – that at least wouldn't be a problem; they both had a horror of publicity and it wasn't anyone else's business – but sneaking around Hogwarts wasn't easy, as she well knew.

_Maybe Harry would lend me his cloak if I asked nicely, _she considered drowsily, biting her lip to stop herself laughing as she tried to picture his face if he knew why she wanted it. '_You see, Harry, I've started shagging Snape, and I need to be able to sneak into the dungeons without being seen so we can fuck like horny teenagers without anyone else knowing.' _No, she had no intention of telling anyone about this. It wouldn't be easy, but then, she had spent most of her time in the dungeons last year and nobody had taken any notice.

She was determined to make it work, somehow. Yesterday had been... incredible. He had been every bit as skilled in bed as she had hoped, but she had been surprised by how tender and considerate he had proved to be, both during sex and afterwards. It wasn't what she had expected, but it was very much appreciated; it was something she hadn't experienced in far too long and something she had no intention of giving up without a fight.

It was proving very difficult to concentrate on anything except the man sleeping beside her, especially with his morning erection pressing against her so distractingly, and Hermione decided to stop worrying about it. When Severus woke up, they could talk; until then she snuggled closer into the warmth of his body and let her thoughts drift where they would.

After an unknown amount of time had passed, he stirred, and then abruptly tensed. She strained to hear something, anything, but he seemed to have stopped breathing. Several agonisingly long moments later, he exhaled slowly and began very carefully withdrawing the arm that had been draped over her, obviously trying not to wake her. Deciding to head that one off immediately, she said quietly, "Good morning."

He froze the instant she spoke, and after a moment answered cautiously, "Good morning..." He sounded uncertain, and she rolled over to try and look at him in the darkness. There wasn't enough light, and she fumbled hastily for her wand.

"_Lumos._" The spell left them both blinking; once her eyes had adjusted, she smiled hesitantly at him and was rewarded when he relaxed. He didn't smile back, but his expression wasn't hostile in any way; if anything, he looked almost puzzled. There was a trace of sleepiness in his eyes, but he was fully awake and looked more alert than she felt. A faint shadow covered his jaw; he didn't have the face for 'designer stubble', really. "Something wrong?" she asked innocently. "You look a little confused."

He snorted quietly, his eyes softening a little. "I thought I was still sleeping," he said very softly, still watching her uncertainly. "But my dreams have never been this pleasant."

The tension left her abruptly and she relaxed, stretching lazily. "It's definitely a pleasant way to wake up," she agreed, adding with a smirk, "as I could tell."

He blinked slowly before realising what she meant, his expression hovering somewhere between embarrassment and a smirk of his own. The smirk won, and he relaxed fully, smiling at last. Retrieving his wand from somewhere in the tangled bedding, he flicked it at the doorway, and the bathroom light came on. "Ladies first?" he offered.

"Are you being polite, or do you just want to watch me walk in there naked?" she asked mischievously.

His eyes glittered. "Yes." Suppressing laughter, she threw off the sheet, surprised at her own daring, and slid out of bed. Acutely aware of his eyes on her, she felt horribly self conscious as she retreated to the bathroom and was almost grateful to shut the door and block his stare. Her reflection in the small mirror did nothing to restore her confidence; her hair was a nightmare, frankly. Whilst far more manageable than it had been when she was younger, it seemed to have returned to something approaching 'rat's nest' overnight. Only a shower was going to fix it, and there wasn't time. She settled for trying to get the worst of the tangles out, relieving herself, washing quickly and cleaning her teeth before awkwardly returning to the bedroom.

The look in his eyes helped chase away her embarrassment; judging by his expression he hadn't noticed her hair and probably wouldn't have noticed had it turned bright pink overnight. Fighting not to blush under his intense scrutiny, she realised he'd picked his jeans up and promptly snatched them out of his hands. "Oh, no, you don't, mister."

"What?"

She pointed at the door, settling back onto the rumpled bed at the same time. "Fair's fair."

It was his turn to look self conscious now, and for a moment she thought he would refuse, before he took a deep breath and slowly pushed the sheet away from his body. His erection was still evident, although not as prominent as it had been. Not looking at her, he stood up and limped slowly to the door; she studied his retreating form, thin and lame and scarred as he was, and when he glanced back uncertainly she tried to put into her smile what she saw; he was beautiful, even if nobody else saw it. Some of the darkness faded from his face, and his movements were more relaxed as he entered the bathroom and closed the door. _At least we're both as insecure as each other, _Hermione reflected.

When he came back, he paused in the doorway; he looked more awake now, and he had shaved. Looking at her with a trace of uncertainty still in his eyes, he said carefully, "I can make coffee if you wish..."

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling gently. "I thought you were good at reading people, Severus," she teased. "Do I have to spell it out? Get back into bed."

He smiled properly then, the last of the tension leaving him, and did as he was told. She greeted him with a kiss and he responded with unexpected passion, pulling her flush against his body as his tongue slid between her lips; yielding to him eagerly, she wound one hand through his hair and explored his scarred back with the other. There was no tension in him this time; when Severus made his mind up about something, he did so one hundred per cent, and his certainty was obvious in the feel of his hard length pressing insistently against her thigh as they kissed.

As he had done before, he rolled her onto her back and kissed his way down her body to her breasts, lingering and teasing her nipples until she was almost writhing under him, but this time when he drew away he continued his downward path; licking, kissing, sometimes biting softly. By the time he had reached her hip she couldn't think and was incapable of speech, and she was shaking as he kissed the inside of her thigh. He hesitated then, deliberately; she felt the whisper of his breath, almost unbearable against her sensitive flesh, and the anticipation was torture.

The first touch of his tongue was almost too much; biting her lip to stifle her cry, Hermione tangled her fingers in his hair by way of encouragement, arching her back. His first actions were cautious, exploratory; then he set to work in earnest, and she saw stars. His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her in place, and intellectually she knew he didn't have the leverage to keep her pinned down but on a level far removed from intellect she knew he was _more _than strong enough. And she yielded to that strength, moaning his name in the darkness of his bedroom as he set her on fire.

Slowly, the waves ebbed away, leaving her drained and trembling beneath him. He had left the bathroom light on; there was just enough light in the bedroom for her to see his face as he licked his lips, watching her. Breathless, she smiled at him. "Allow me to... return the favour?" she offered a little shakily.

To her surprise, he shook his head, smiling back at her. "No, not that," he murmured, crawling awkwardly up the bed and stretching out beside her, reaching out to gently brush her damp hair back from her face. It seemed very strange that he would refuse, but she would think about it later; right now the last traces of her orgasm were fading and leaving her conscious of both that ache inside her and his erection pressed against her thigh. Turning onto her side to face him, she reached for him in the darkness, kissing him hungrily and moaning at the taste of musk in his mouth.

Severus kissed her back just as fiercely, shifting over her as she rolled onto her back once more. There was no more teasing now; he thrust into her sudden and fast, with no warning, and it drew a startled cry from her that dissolved into a groan as he buried himself to the hilt before starting to move. Despite the abrupt action, he was gentle still, and her body responded to the unique rolling motion of his hips as his breathing sounded ragged and harsh in her ears.

Clutching at his scarred shoulders for support, Hermione threw her head back, gasping for air as fire shot through her once more, and he lowered his head to kiss her exposed throat gently, his long hair brushing her skin. He groaned then, his body tensing, and she reached up to push his hair back from his face, watching his eyes as he stared down at her; she wanted to see him come. A few more thrusts and his eyes slid out of focus, his expression changing from concentration to something almost like pain; a shudder ran through him and he cried out, and as she felt him climax inside her she followed him over the edge.

Lying drowsy and sated in his arms, she relaxed, listening to his breathing slow. "Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you stop me?" After a pause, when he didn't answer, she realised it was going to be one of _those _reasons. She tried to think of why he would object to fellatio and decided she didn't really want to know, but she had asked now. When he took a deep breath, she spoke to forestall him. "Please don't lie to me. If you don't want to tell me, or don't want me to know, then just say so. I won't push."

"Don't lie to yourself, then," he replied after a moment, shivering a little. "You already know."

Hermione winced. "I hoped I was wrong. That really is scarring, then?" She had felt it – God, was it only yesterday? – when she had touched him, held him in her hand, but she had told herself she was mistaken.

"Yes," he said softly, turning his face into her hair. His arms tightened unconsciously, and after a long moment he spoke again, distantly. "It was an... unusually severe punishment."

"Who –" she started to ask, and nearly bit her tongue to stop herself.

Surprisingly, he answered. "Bellatrix, naturally. Bitch."

"She didn't die hard enough," Hermione muttered, sickened and angry.

"No," he agreed softly, and sighed against her hair. "I tried to warn you, Hermione. I'm too damaged for anyone, really."

"Don't be stupid," she told him. "Don't let them win. They tried to take everything from you. I'm not going to let them succeed, not after all this time." Curling closer, she held him for a while, trying unsuccessfully not to think about it. "Did you know it would happen?"

"No." His sharp laugh was bitter. "I thought at first I was being rewarded. Then at the last possible moment, she... bit. Hard. And while I was trying not to scream, trying to stop the bleeding, the Dark Lord told me why."

"And... why?"

"Because he was fucking insane," Severus replied bluntly and with unusual vehemence. "I had done nothing wrong. In fact, I had pleased him – hence my mistaken belief that it was a reward. Well, if you could call it that," he added with a sneer. "Bella was never my type even though this was before Azkaban destroyed her so completely. It turned out that it _was _a reward – but for her, rather than for me."

"God, Severus. I'm so sorry."

"Ah, now, I've told you not to do that," he reproved her mildly. "It's not as bad as it seems. It was the shock more than anything else – although admittedly I was very relieved when it finally stopped hurting. I've endured worse."

"You... didn't mention this on the list of things to avoid," she managed, trying to stay calm.

"I didn't think it would be an issue. Most women dislike the act."

"I am not most women."

"A fact I will endeavour not to forget in future."

"When did it happen?" Hermione asked softly.

"In the first war, when I was still in my teens," he replied laconically. "During the second war, I was better prepared and would not have been made to endure something like that."

"I don't understand."

He sighed, playing restlessly with her hair. "To be blunt, I claimed impotence. It meant I was spared many – although not all – of the more distasteful aspects of our happy little society. It wasn't even a lie," he added sourly, "under the circumstances. It's difficult to get it up when you're scared or trying not to be sick, even if you're not under impossible amounts of stress... and I was never particularly active in that regard anyway."

"So you were never made to..."

"No." He shifted, pushing himself up on one elbow, and stared down at her incredulously as she looked up at him. "You – you thought _that _of me and still let me touch you?" he asked in some bewilderment.

"Well, I never thought you'd done it willingly," she huffed at him. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me, and you didn't." He continued to stare at her for several long moments before shaking his head slowly and slumping back down, staring at the ceiling with a strange expression on his face. Hermione curled up against him once more, ignoring it when he tensed, and rested her head on his chest. She'd think about this some more in daylight; right now it was time to break the mood, before they both got thoroughly depressed. A thought occurred right on cue, and she smothered a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Severus asked, sounding confused – as well he might, given the topic under discussion.

Lifting her head, she grinned at him. "Just thinking... this will make testing your new and improved scar oil a lot more fun."

He looked honestly shocked for a moment, his eyes widening, and she watched a variety of different emotions flicker through his eyes before he started laughing helplessly and almost hysterically, his whole body shaking with it. He was almost crying by the time he got himself under control, and he further surprised her by hugging her roughly. "God, you're an amazing woman, Hermione," he told her, apparently sincerely. "Only you could react so... so _calmly._"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm giving serious consideration to seeing if you have any books on Dark magic left, so I can drag Bellatrix back from the dead and kill her all over again," she said mildly. "Her and Snake-face both. But if you want to know if it makes me think less of _you, _no, it doesn't." More than that, she was determined that one day she would pleasure him and wash away the ugly memory.

"'Snake-face'?" he repeated in a strangled tone, swallowing more laughter. "You're learning a lot of bad habits from me..."

"Feel free to teach me some more," she said invitingly.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded in mock outrage, turning a little more towards her and wrapping his arms around her.

"Hardly. You're not going to be much use when you're dead."

"Oh, I see. So you're just using me shamelessly?"

"Well, yes," she agreed, smiling as she snuggled closer.

"Good."

* * *

Hermione had never really thought about it much before, but the month of August really wasn't long enough. It should be at least twice as long, she decided, trudging up the long Hogwarts drive with her bags and Crookshanks' box levitating alongside her. Not that she was unhappy about returning to work; she still loved Hogwarts and she liked her job. But she would have preferred to stay where she had been for most of the past few weeks, in Severus' bed in the cramped shabby caravan.

It had been a perfect holiday, really. When they hadn't been making love – astonishingly, an experience that only got better with time, at least so far – they had simply been lazing around in the sun, talking about just about everything. He had asked about her childhood, about when her magic had first shown and how she had felt about it, and she had even been able to talk about her parents without it hurting much. She had asked him about some of the things he had seen and done during his years of wandering around the world. They had talked about books, and magical theory, and the latest Muggle comedians. They had even spent one perfect, lazy Sunday in bed reading the papers in the best clichéd tradition – although most couples probably didn't get into an involved and enthusiastic debate about the parallels between the Muggle government and the Ministry, which dissolved into an open argument resolved only when he cheated and kissed her into submission. It was probably a bad idea to let him get away with that too often.

But duty called, and they both had jobs, and now it was two days before the start of term and here she was heading into school for a day-long staff meeting when timetables would be finalised, Hogsmeade weekends and chaperones scheduled, Quidditch matches arranged and problems discussed. At least she would see Severus again; she hadn't seen him for over a week, both of them belatedly realising they still had quite a lot of work to do before term started. Then again, she was a little nervous about seeing him; it would be their first encounter inside school since they had become lovers, and the atmosphere was going to be different. Having the rest of the staff around wasn't going to help either.

In the end, seeing him wasn't as awkward as she had feared. The staff room was full, a riot of noise and laughter that would have put any of the student common rooms to shame, and when she finally managed to look at him she was dismayed for a moment to see Professor Snape's expressionless and faintly irritated mask once more – until his eyes softened slightly on meeting hers and the merest hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. Only for a moment, and nothing anyone else could possibly have noticed, but it was enough.

A staff meeting had never dragged so long. Hermione examined her new timetable, which included an extra class this year, and made a mental note to compare it with Severus' at the first opportunity to see if they shared any free time. Severus seemed less than impressed with his schedule and complained that it was impossible to prevent accidents if Minerva persisted in giving him double Potions last thing on a Friday with the Gryffindor-Slytherin fourth years – a group popularly known amongst the staff as the Bloodbath class simply because they were by far the most difficult group to control. The complaint got him nowhere, but he clearly hadn't expected it to, and from his tone she suspected he had made the same complaint every year for most of his career.

Eventually, however, it was over; by the time Hermione had disentangled herself from several well-meaning but decidedly unwelcome queries about her summer, Severus had long since vanished in the direction of the dungeons, stalking off with his usual display of bad temper. She suspected it hadn't been entirely feigned; he had no patience for most staff meetings, and the first one of the term was always far longer than it really needed to be. Given that he was likely to be in a bad mood, she approached the dungeons with caution, realising only when she got to the door that she didn't know his new password and sighing in irritation as she knocked.

The door opened silently and somehow she wasn't much surprised to see Crookshanks sitting in the middle of the floor smugly washing his paws. "You made yourself at home quickly," she informed the cat, who ignored her. Evidently her familiar approved of her current lover, which was a relief – he had shown a tendency towards jealousy in the past.

"He's not the only one," Severus greeted her sardonically from where he was standing by one of his many bookshelves. "It seems there really is no peace for the wicked."

"Hello to you too," she retorted, unable to keep the smile from her face as she walked over to him. "My heartfelt apologies for disturbing you; perhaps I should come back at a more convenient time, or –" He cut her off swiftly in what was fast becoming his usual method for stopping her from arguing, and after a token struggle she surrendered grudgingly to the kiss. Coming up for air, she rolled her eyes at him as she stepped back. "I missed you too, you grumpy sod."

He snorted disdainfully and turned away, but she caught the smile he was trying to hide.

* * *

There was no real discussion about it; Hermione simply ended up spending most of her time down in the dungeons for one reason or another. She hadn't initially intended to stay overnight, but that was how it had worked out, and Severus certainly seemed to have no complaints about the situation. And since she spent so much time in his rooms, it made sense to keep some of her things there. He made space for her possessions without comment; on reflection, she suspected that neither of them wanted to openly mention it, in case one of them realised it was a bad idea. If they didn't mention it, it wouldn't crash down around them. And really, there wasn't anything to discuss – if Severus objected, he would definitely let her know. Better to let things lie, really – "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," as her father had been fond of saying.

Her thirtieth birthday got off to a less than promising start. Severus had got up early and gone to his first class without waking her, which annoyed her even though she reminded herself that he probably didn't know what day it was because she hadn't dropped any hints; he couldn't be expected to remember her birthday based solely on last year's last-minute paper flowers and she hadn't been expecting anything from him, but that didn't stop her feeling a little upset about it. Until she got to her office and found a book on the desk.

It had to be from Severus, because nobody else would even think of giving her a recent edition of an elite Potions journal, but she was a little confused about why. There was no note, nothing written inside the cover. Puzzled, she settled into her chair and slowly leafed through the pages, scanning the articles until an author's name jumped out at her – _Professor Severus Tobias Snape._

Slowly, she began to read the article. It was the full report on the nerve treatment he had created and successfully used at Easter, what seemed almost another lifetime ago. She recognised his style in some of the phrases and derived a perversely smug thrill from knowing that almost nobody else in her acquaintance would understand half the technical terms he had used; then again, this periodical wasn't for laymen but experts. She had had no idea he planned to publish it, and felt pleased for him; this was the first work he'd had published since the war. She was also amused to note a few Muggle doctors named in the references at the end of the article. Finished, she was about to close the book when the very last sentence seemed to leap off the page at her just as his name had done.

_Lastly, the author wishes to acknowledge the substantial contribution of Professor Hermione Jean Granger, whose aid was invaluable in the development and creation of this work._

"Oh, Severus..." she whispered aloud, stunned.

All right, it might not be the most romantic gift in the world, but from such a private and closed-off man as Severus, any public acknowledgement of anything at all was incredible. And in all honesty, a citation in a prestigious academic journal was better than a more conventional gift. It might just be one of the best presents she had ever had. Slowly she turned back to the frontispiece, and blinked when she noticed a faint shimmer on the parchment; gently touching the spot, she watched her fingerprint turn black before twisting into spiky handwriting that was instantly recognisable even though it had been more than ten years since she'd seen it close up.

_Happy birthday, Hermione. S.

* * *

_It was just as well that she had a class to teach in the last period of the day; it meant that by the time she got down to the dungeons the Potions students had left the classroom and Severus was just finishing clearing up. Otherwise the children would have been utterly horrified to see the Muggle Studies teacher all but run into the classroom, launch herself at a startled Potions master and make a serious attempt to snog his face off.

Caught off guard and off balance, Severus staggered, almost falling over before sinking down to sit on the edge of his desk and responding to her onslaught with gratifying enthusiasm. She was distantly aware of the door slamming closed, but frankly she didn't care whether anyone walked past or not – at the moment she'd find it hard to care if the entire Ministry of Magic, the full stage cast of 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' and a pack of Blast-Ended Skrewts were present; in fact, she might not even notice.

When oxygen deprivation started to become an issue, she reluctantly broke the kiss, drawing back to look at him – with him half-sitting, half-leaning against his desk while she stood between his legs, their eyes were almost on the same level. He raised an eyebrow at her, making a credible attempt to pretend he wasn't flushed and breathing hard.

"I am hardly an expert on good manners, I realise that, but I believe that 'hello' is a more conventional greeting," he observed mildly, also managing to pretend his voice hadn't deepened to that husky, silken purr that made her whole body tingle.

"You are at one and the same time a very sweet man and an infuriating, sneaky bastard," she informed him, trying not to sound too breathless.

"And what, pray, has led you to this somewhat unlikely conclusion?"

By way of an answer, Hermione dug the journal out of her robe and held it out silently, struggling to regain her breath and her scattered wits. He arched an eyebrow and took it, his expression contriving to suggest that he had never laid eyes on it before, and leafed through the pages apparently at random, managing to give the impression that it was pure coincidence that he stopped at that particular page.

"Oh, this won't do at all," he murmured. "They misprinted it. The original text said quite clearly, '_The author is reluctantly forced to acknowledge the interference of the insufferable know-it-all Professor Hermione Jean Granger, whose aid was inevitable_–_'_" That was as far as he got before she growled and kissed him again, part of her observing that as a method of shutting someone up, it worked just as well on him as it did on her. Only a very small part of her, though, since the rest of her was far more interested in thrusting her tongue into his mouth as her fingers wound their way into his hair.

Eventually she drew away to allow them both to breathe once more, watching his face as he attempted to regain his composure, his lips swollen from kisses and his pale skin flushed. "You didn't need to do that," she said softly. "It was all your work. I barely did anything."

His black eyes blazed, but his voice remained soft as he replied evenly, "Is that how you see it?"

"That's how it was," she answered, puzzled by the intensity in his face as he stared at her. He looked almost angry, but that wasn't quite right. She couldn't really name the expression in his eyes.

"Without you, it would not have been possible," he said at last. His eyes slid away from hers, that strange expression fading to a more familiar unease. "Without you, I would not be here and could not have achieved it. Without you, I..." He didn't finish the sentence, now looking at the ground.

"Severus?" she asked very softly, reaching out to push his hair back from his face, wanting to see his eyes.

He wouldn't look at her as he finished speaking, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. "Without you, I would still be alone."

_Oh, Severus. _Hermione's throat closed as she realised just how much pain those soft words held, remembering the day he had admitted that he just wanted to come home. He had been alone his entire life; what she had felt for so long was only a faint echo of what he had been through. In a moment of insight she realised that _that _had been the worst of it; all the foul things he had endured would have been so much easier to bear had there been someone to share it, someone to tell him it was all right, someone to tend his injuries and listen to him and simply _be there _for him. She reached out and touched his face, lifted his chin and made him look at her. "We aren't alone any more, either of us," she told him simply, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

His arms slid around her waist, drawing her close, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her back equally gently before she caught his lower lip between her teeth and heard his breathing hitch in response. Deepening the kiss, she sighed in pleasure at the now-familiar tastes of molasses and rain, touched with a trace of black coffee from earlier in the day. Drawing away, she smiled at him. "Come with me."

"It's your birthday," he said neutrally.

It took her a moment to translate. Her friends had planned an unofficial party of sorts this evening, with drinks down in Hogsmeade. But that wasn't until later, after dinner, and in any case... "Yes, it is," she agreed quietly, "and I get to choose how I spend it. And right now, I want to be with you. Now stop arguing with me and come help me celebrate properly."

His eyes grew warmer in one of his private almost-smiles. "Well, if you insist."

Taking his hand, she tugged him away from the desk and led him through into his private quarters. Crookshanks opened one eye, gave them both a faintly disgusted look and pointedly buried his flattened nose behind his tail; both of them ignored the cat completely as they entered the bedroom. When Severus moved to kiss her again, she laid her fingertips against his lips, stopping him; he looked at her and she said firmly, "It's _my_ birthday." Understanding dawned in his gaze, and after a moment of indecision he nodded and stood passive, waiting for her to act – a gesture of trust that she hadn't expected to get.

Hermione took her time, slowly unfastening his robes and then his coat one button at a time until she could slide the heavy garments off his shoulders to pool unnoticed on the ground. Kneeling, she heard his breath hitch sharply as he tensed, and she kept her head bent – not that, not yet; he wasn't ready for it, and she had other plans tonight – as she untied the laces of his boots. He relaxed fractionally and shifted his weight from one leg to the other as she removed both boots and socks before standing once more and reaching up to slide her arms around his neck, drawing him in for another slow kiss.

Next she began to work on his shirt, unfastening the cuffs before gently tugging it free from his trousers, smiling at the faint catch in his breathing. As she had with his robes, she slowly unfastened each button in turn, gradually baring more of his body to her view and gently tracing the newly exposed skin with her fingertips; by now she knew every scar, the lines of every bone and muscle, and every dark hair. Another lingering, heated kiss as the shirt fell to the floor, and she undid his belt and the fly of his trousers one-handed as her other hand remained tangled in his hair and her tongue explored the familiar contours of his mouth eagerly.

Only his underwear remained now, and she slid a hand beneath the waistband to gently cradle him in her hand, feeling him shudder. Breaking the kiss, she slipped her other hand over his hip and pushed his clothing down until he could step free and stand nude before her, the dancing firelight illuminating the contours of his body to perfection. Only the slightest flicker in his eyes betrayed the faint uneasy self-consciousness he felt at being so exposed when she was still fully dressed; that was a situation she intended to remedy fairly quickly.

Placing a hand on his chest, she pushed him back gently, and he yielded to the pressure and backed up until he reached the bed. Another push and he sat down; leaning down, she kissed him again before grasping his shoulders and pushing him back to lie on the bed, silently telling him to stay there. Obediently he squirmed back until his bad leg was supported and propped himself up on his elbows, watching her silently, heat leaping into his eyes as she slowly began to strip.

His intense scrutiny was enough to make her blush. Hermione had never dreamed she would have the confidence to do this, but there was something powerful in being able to watch the effect she was having on him; seeing the flickers of lust and desire in his eyes, seeing his hands knotting loosely into fists, watching the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing grew heavier and seeing his erection twitch as he hardened still further. The realisation that _she _was able to affect a man like him so strongly was an amazing feeling.

Naked, she stood for a moment with her hands on her hips, her nipples tightening and shivers rippling across her skin both because of the cooler air of the dungeons and because of his intent stare that was almost a tangible weight against her. Slowly she crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips, leaning down to capture his mouth with hers once more. Both of them shivered at the skin-to-skin contact, and he moved at last, his hands beginning to explore her body as the kiss deepened.

Every movement was excruciatingly slow. Finally she reached between them and curled her fingers around the solid length of him, sitting up and slowly easing herself onto him. It was almost too much from this angle, almost too intense, and she groaned softly as he filled her, feeling him shudder beneath her. Taking a moment to let herself adjust, Hermione looked down into his eyes before slowly beginning to move her hips, at first barely more than rocking on him. He arched into her with a low sound in the back of his throat, matching her slow rhythm as she rode him; heat built just as slowly between them as she increased her movement, until it was almost too much to bear. Finally, just when she could barely stand it any longer, everything broke and her release was almost blinding in its intensity; lost in the last pulses of ecstasy, she heard his familiar groan and felt his fingers tighten on her hips.

Then as her orgasm began to fade she heard his voice, rough and thick with need. "Hermione..." Looking down at him, she saw his eyes were closed; his body arched beneath her, and he shuddered, and she felt him climax at last.

Lying in his arms afterwards, she committed the moment and his voice to memory. He wasn't at all vocal and was usually almost silent during sex; he rarely spoke once the foreplay had reached a particular point and she was certain he had never said anything coherent when he came, least of all her name. It raised a number of questions; maybe there was something between them that went deeper than an odd friendship, a tendency to hoard obscure knowledge, and a lot of good sex – she had a feeling that it wouldn't take much for her to fall for Severus Snape now, and wouldn't that fuck up everything six ways from Sunday?

Neither of them had mentioned the future. Aside from that first time when he had asked what this was and she had replied that she didn't know, neither of them had dared to question their relationship at all. They weren't casual people, either of them, but... Hermione knew she had lost all her illusions a long time ago. Love wasn't romance, it was pain, and it was a lot rarer than she had once believed. And as for Severus... even now, so much of his mind was a mystery to her. He had told her months ago that he had known for a long time that he didn't love Lily, but that was all she knew for certain. She doubted he believed in love at all, and even if he did she wasn't sure he had it in him to feel it. He was still so broken in so many ways. She was reasonably certain that he cared for her, at least a little, but was that enough?

Yet this had to be more. At the moment she was practically living with him; on the surface it was a superficial arrangement of convenience, but Severus was such a private person that he would never have allowed her this far into his life unless he truly wanted to, and she very much doubted that sex or even friendship would be strong enough incentives. The fact that he had publicly stated that he valued her aid was far more than she had ever dreamed he could give, and the trust that he had shown earlier in letting her take the lead was almost unbelievable given who he was.

What they shared now _worked. _She had thought for a while now that they were both afraid to try and define it in case it fell apart and stopped working. There was no fairytale ending for them, that much was certain, but she didn't think she wanted that anyway. There was no such thing as living happily ever after – but maybe there was a way to live _mostly _happily, for a pretty long time. That would do.

She was vaguely aware that he had turned his face into her neck, his arms tightening around her almost possessively whenever she tried to move, and smiled, pushing her troubled thoughts away to consider some other time. It was her birthday, and she was going to enjoy herself. "Don't get too comfortable, Severus. I'm going out soon, I have to get ready. And you're on duty tonight."

The only response she got was a growl, but after a moment he did reluctantly let go. If he realised what he had said earlier, it didn't show, but she was fairly sure he didn't. Hermione looked down at him; his eyes were closed still, his head turned away from her. Impulsively she leaned down and kissed his neck, directly between the two jagged scars; he stiffened and his eyes flew open as he drew in a sharp breath, but she was already slowly untangling herself from his embrace, and after a moment he exhaled heavily and relaxed. "Warn me when you do that," he grumbled, and she grinned at him as she began to gather her clothes together.

"Your reflexes are getting dull, Slytherin," she told him mockingly, shrugging into her robe. Pausing in the doorway, she blew him a kiss. "I'll see you later. Don't wait up."

"Don't flatter yourself," he retorted, and her smile broadened.

"If I don't, who will?"

* * *

_The lemons do ease off in exchange for more plot later in the story, I promise!  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_There's a bit of everything here.  


* * *

_

**"Courage is of the heart by derivation, and great it is. But fear is of the soul****.****"**  
– Robert Frost.

* * *

"You're late," Neville accused her when she finally arrived at the Three Broomsticks, handing her a drink. "Where were you?"

"Sorry, I guess I lost track of time," she said apologetically, trying to sound innocent.

She failed. General laughter spread around the table, and George declared triumphantly, "I knew it! Pay up, Harry."

"What?" Hermione asked, somewhat baffled, as Harry good-naturedly handed over a couple of Galleons.

It turned out that her _dear _friends had been laying wagers since they had last seen her just before term started that she was involved with someone – apparently that really did show, although her blush was confirmation enough and more.

"So come on, tell us everything," Ginny said encouragingly, pressing another drink on her.

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing as she wondered what to say. On the one hand, it was nobody's business but hers and Severus'. On the other hand, these people were friends, and there was no malice in their questions. And she was happy and it would be nice to share some of that happiness. _How would Severus handle this? _she asked herself, and smiled suddenly. He'd tell the truth, in such a way that nobody guessed it. _Time to be a Slytherin._

"Well, I'm certainly not telling you _everything,_" she said, smiling as she took a drink. "I'm not even going to tell you his name, not yet. But yes, there is someone."

"How long have you been together?"

"We used to know one another a long time ago, but we lost touch. Last year we met up again, by accident, and we got talking. We've only been together for a couple of months, though."

"Is he the mystery friend who gave you your ring?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, all too aware of Luna's suddenly no longer vague stare, and Ginny laughed.

"I knew it! So what's he like? If he knows about your Patronus he must be a wizard; is he Muggleborn too?"

"He's a half-blood."

"Did he go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes; that's why I'm not telling you his name."

"Which House?"

"I'm not telling you that, either. Not Gryffindor, though."

"Ravenclaw," several voices said at once, and Hermione only smiled, neither confirming nor denying it as she fought the sudden urge to giggle. It was so, so tempting to tell them everything, just to see the looks on their faces, but Severus would kill her – if they didn't beat him to it.

"Is he someone from our year?" Neville asked.

"No, he's older. Quite a bit older, actually..."

"How much older?"

Hermione hesitated. Intellectually she knew that compared to the total life span of a witch or wizard, two decades was small change, but part of her still thought like a Muggle. "Twenty years," she admitted.

"Fifty? Bah, he's barely more than a teenager," George, the eldest present, declared to general laughter.

"And is he tall, dark and handsome?" Harry asked teasingly.

Smothering a laugh, Hermione nodded, smiling. "Actually, yes! Well, tallish, although not as tall as most of you beanpoles, and dark hair and eyes, at least. He's not conventionally what you'd call handsome, but I think he is, although I doubt any of you would agree with me. I doubt he would, come to that."

"Did he sweep you off your feet?"

She very nearly lost it completely then, mostly from trying to imagine Severus' reaction had he heard that question. "Um, no, not really! Look, this isn't the romance of the century. I don't even know where it's going..."

"You say that, but your smile says something different," Ginny told her. "You're being dreadfully unfair, Hermione; you won't give us any details."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"What's he like?"

Hermione considered the question. "He's very intelligent," she said finally, slowly, thinking about her words as she spoke. "Brilliant, really, if a subject interests him. He's quiet; he tends to keep to himself. He has very firm opinions and a bit of a temper – we've had some pretty memorable arguments. He likes music... He speaks Latin... He can be very moody and intense sometimes, and he's not always easy to understand, and there are days when he's impossible to live with..."

"He sounds wonderful," Neville said sarcastically, and as punishment was sent to fetch the next round of drinks.

"I know, but actually, he is," Hermione said when he returned, taking her glass. "Because for every day when he's snarling and sulking, there's a day when he's looked at me and known exactly what I need – don't laugh like that, Ginny, it's disturbing," she added with a smothered giggle. "I don't mean... that. I mean things like – like knowing when I'm upset without me needing to do or say anything, or knowing when he's done something that's made me angry, or just knowing that I could use a sympathetic ear. And when he wants to be, he's incredibly thoughtful and considerate. I don't know how else to describe it. He... he's what I need, right now."

"Well, he certainly seems to have made you happy, which is wonderful to see," Ginny told her sincerely. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know. It's still early days, and I don't want to rush and risk driving him away."

"He's likely to run if you get serious?" Neville asked.

"I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't want to take the chance. It's complicated... we both have some issues to deal with. He has... a bit of a history. We're working on it."

"Do you think he loves you?"

"I don't know that, either. He's not openly demonstrative – I think in his own way he's scared of making a mistake. We're taking things slowly. Neither of us is in a hurry; if this is going to go anywhere, it will. But I am happy."

"Was he in the war?" Harry asked very quietly. They all knew the question meant more than it seemed.

"Yes," Hermione agreed equally softly.

"He's someone from the Order?" George asked, lightening the mood. "I knew it! It's Mundungus Fletcher, isn't it?"

"Don't be disgusting!" Hermione protested, laughing despite herself. "Mundungus is a lot older than that, and about as intelligent as a Flobberworm! And no, he wasn't in the Order." That wasn't, technically speaking, a lie; Severus had never been formally accepted into their ranks, and had sworn to Dumbledore personally rather than to the Order. It was a technicality, but one she was prepared to hide behind.

"But he saw action?"

"A lot. It didn't do him any favours. That's one reason it's a little complicated. As I said, we're working on it."

"Do you see him often?" Ginny asked. "It must be difficult, with you at Hogwarts all the time."

"He went to Hogwarts too; he understands. And I see him more often than you'd think," Hermione replied, and was aware of Luna trying not to choke on her drink. Judging by her smile, the Ravenclaw was enjoying this game; judging by the look in the usually-dreamy eyes, Hermione had a lot of explaining to do later.

"I'm glad Ron's not here for this discussion," George commented cheerfully. "I don't want to begin to imagine the sulks."

"I'm going to give him an earful tomorrow," Ginny said, shaking her head. "He should be here."

"It's all right," Hermione said, smiling a little wistfully. "If he has to work, he has to work. Yes, I know he probably could have got out of it, but... we don't have much to say to each other these days, and I don't want to fight with anyone tonight. It's my birthday, and I'm having fun with my friends."

"And you have a tallish, dark and possibly-handsome wizard waiting for you afterwards?" George teased.

"Yes, Hermione, share. What's he _like?_" Ginny asked eagerly.

"You already asked that," Harry said, and flushed when everyone laughed. "Oh. Right. That."

"That's personal," Hermione retorted, but she could feel her face burning, and only blushed harder when her friends laughed. "Oh, all right. He's wonderful. Now stop it."

"Yes, please stop," Harry agreed hastily, looking nearly as embarrassed as she was.

Neville came to the rescue. "Let's ask the really important question; what does Crookshanks think of him? We all know that's the opinion that matters!"

Hermione laughed. "Actually, Crooks adores him."

"Oho, it must be serious!" George cried, grinning.

* * *

In the bathroom, Luna cornered her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were in Portugal, busy hunting monsters."

"Oh. Fair enough," the Ravenclaw conceded cheerfully. "Why didn't you tell me afterwards, then?"

"Because... oh, lots of reasons. Because I couldn't quite believe it was real. Because I didn't want to tell anyone while it was still so new. Because I've never liked talking about my private life; and because I know he won't want anyone to know. You're the only person who knows enough to even guess, and I trust you not to tell anyone, but... oh, I don't know, Luna. I always meant to tell you eventually, but the time never felt right. I was telling the truth out there, I'm not sure where this is going. There are so many problems..."

"You're very good at problem solving," Luna said mildly. "I'm not offended."

"You're not even surprised, are you? Did you know this would happen?"

"Not really. I remember thinking after we'd talked about him a little that the two of you had a great deal in common and that you might be good for one another, but I don't think I expected it to happen, at least not so soon."

"Yes, it was a bit sudden," Hermione admitted wryly.

"Ginny's right, though. I've never seen you this happy. And I'm happy for you; _both _of you."

Hermione blinked as her eyes stung. "Thank you, Luna."

The two hugged, before George's voice broke the mood as he shouted from outside the door, "Come on, birthday girl, champagne time!"

* * *

The dungeons were in darkness as she made her way unsteadily through his rooms. _Of all the nights for him to suddenly decide to go to bed at a normal time,_ Hermione thought fuzzily, opening the door to his bedroom and slipping inside – having had the foresight to remove her shoes in the living room so she would make less noise. Given the state she was in, there was no way she was moving with any kind of stealth, so she was a little surprised that Severus was actually still asleep when she reached the bed. There was just enough light filtering in from somewhere to show his face, slack in repose. No sign of tears tonight – either he hadn't reached that phase yet or he'd been through it already; she had learned by now that it happened almost every night. Nearly losing her balance twice, she shed her clothing, watching him the entire time.

He didn't wake even when she slipped into bed beside him and pressed close against the warm curve of his back, which was unusual. As was his habit – at least when she wasn't there – he was wearing a pair of faded tracksuit bottoms in lieu of pyjamas, and no shirt; resting her cheek against his back, she gently kissed one of the worst scars on his shoulder blade, sliding an arm around his waist and trailing her fingers down his stomach.

Severus stirred. "Hermione?" he mumbled sleepily, and she smothered a giggle.

"Who else would it be?"

"Hmph. Good night?"

"Yes, actually; it was fun. You should've been there."

"Whatever for?"

"I'd have liked it. I missed you."

"You were only gone a few hours," he pointed out, stifling a yawn.

"Too long," she insisted, her hand sliding beneath the waistband of his trousers.

"You're drunk."

"Probably," she agreed cheerfully, stroking him. "Does that matter?"

"It might, in the morning."

"Then worry about it in the morning," she told him, kissing his back again as she fondled him, feeling him responding despite himself. "It's my birthday."

"It's after midnight. It was your birthday yesterday."

"I don't really care." She heard him draw a breath to argue and promptly put her free hand over his mouth, feeling his lips move against her palm before abruptly his tongue flickered over her skin. Surprised, she started to draw her hand away, and he caught her wrist, turning his head a little and drawing her fingers into his mouth before sucking them gently, his mouth hot and wet.

He was swelling rapidly under her hand, impossibly soft skin in vivid contrast to the hard length it enclosed, and she concentrated more fully on touching him, feeling the veins and ridges – yes, and the scars – as though it was the first time she had done so. When she brushed the head of him and teased the foreskin gently he stopped suckling on her fingers and groaned, arching back against her; she drew her hand out of his mouth, tracing his lips before stroking the scarred skin of his back and making him shiver. Sliding her other hand down his shaft once more, she moved lower, and he shifted his legs further apart to allow her to cradle his testicles in her palm.

Hermione kissed the side of his neck gently and felt him shudder, and she knew it wasn't entirely from pleasure. He was astonishingly vulnerable at this moment; the trust he was showing by making no effort to pull away was almost unbelievable. Coupled with his willing submission earlier in the day, it was nothing short of miraculous, and she wondered briefly what it was costing him to do so.

Her fingers still damp from his mouth, she traced his throat, feeling his pulse fluttering under her fingertips before stroking over the delicate structure of his trachea and finding the snakebite scars; he swallowed, and she gently squeezed his erection with her other hand to distract him, making him shiver again. They could both imagine the damage she could do in this position before he could stop her, and she felt oddly emotional to confront the proof of his trust in her, fragile though it was, especially given what he had been through in the past.

Knowing that this was making him uncomfortable, she let go and drew away, allowing Severus to roll over and look at her. His eyes held a peculiar blend of relief and disappointment that she had stopped, and it made her smile as she moved into the circle of his arms and allowed him to take control once more. After some seriously intense kissing, he broke away to catch his breath, and asked, "You're not as drunk as you seem, are you?"

She grinned at him. "You've seen me drunk before – you've _got _me drunk before. What do _you _think?"

"Witch," he muttered, not sounding as if he minded the deception too much.

"You're in no position to complain. You're the lightest sleeper I've ever known, and I may not be completely drunk but I'm definitely not sober enough to move quietly, and that's without considering all your wards and security measures. You woke up the moment I walked into the Potions classroom, never mind when I got into the bedroom, didn't you?"

His only response was to kiss her again, which rather answered her question anyway. Laughing softly, she reached down to help him squirm out of his trousers, wondering in some amusement if he had ever been asleep at all and whether the only reason he had even gone to bed was because she had suggested that he might have planned to wait up for her. Then the question ceased to matter, because his fingers had slid between her legs and his mouth had closed over her nipple and the rising heat quickly stifled all thought.

When he finally entered her it was clear that the teasing had gone on a little too long for both of them. His movements were quick and harsh, his breathing heavy, and she was no better as she writhed under him and clutched at his buttocks to pull him deeper, harder, biting at his neck and shoulder. He shuddered and turned his head to catch her lips with his, kissing her with almost bruising force before growling against her mouth, "Not the neck."

"Sorry," she managed to gasp, belatedly realising that he had some very good reasons to dislike having his neck bitten, even in play. Ignoring the apology, he kissed her again, thrusting into her once more; his pace was growing more erratic and she could tell from the sound of his breathing that he was close.

He shifted his weight, and she realised after a moment that he was trying to free one hand so that he could touch her, but his right leg couldn't support him in this position and he needed both arms to hold his body over hers. He made a frustrated sound and she arched her back, tightening her muscles around him. "It doesn't matter," she said breathlessly, "I'm almost there..."

"Almost..." he answered indistinctly, gasping and closing his eyes, biting his lip and trembling with the strain as he fought the inevitable. Tangling a hand in his hair, she brought his head down and kissed him, gently suckling on his lower lip where he'd just bitten it, and felt him shifting his hips as he drove into her hard and fast.

"Oh, God, Severus," she groaned, breaking the kiss and throwing her head back to concentrate on the fire rapidly building. Her saying his name proved to be his undoing; he moaned softly, deep in the back of his throat, and shuddered convulsively before his body stiffened and he cried out as he came. If there were any words in that incoherent sound, she couldn't tell, but his climax triggered her own release and everything dissolved in the haze of pleasure that followed.

* * *

Life settled back into a comfortable routine, weeks drifting by in a strange parody of domesticity. When she didn't have classes, she read or worked quietly in his rooms, marking essays, drafting exam papers and planning her future syllabus. He was teaching most of the day; he spent his few free periods either doing paperwork or down in the lab brewing Infirmary potions as well as his own private stock. The evenings were their real time, when they settled comfortably side by side on the sofa in front of the fire and read or talked before she spent the night in his bed.

Hermione was going through her post one morning when a letter made her curse. "Damnit!"

"What?" he asked absently, doing up his shirt as he got ready for the day – his first class was in less than an hour.

"It's from my landlord; he's increased my rent again."

"You pay rent all year round?" he asked, turning to look at her. "You live here all but two months of the year."

"That's why he keeps increasing the rent; he wants me to move out," she replied sourly.

"Then move out. You don't need anywhere until the end of June, and it seems a pointless waste of money to pay for somewhere you don't use."

"And what do I do in June? I'll never find anywhere during the holiday season."

Severus hesitated before turning away and attempting to busy himself with threading his belt through his trousers, not looking at her as he answered in a carefully neutral tone, "You spent most of your time at the van last summer."

She froze, staring at his back. _He can't possibly mean what I think he means... _ Trying to keep her voice from shaking, she replied slowly, "That's true..."

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Well then, logic would seem to dictate the obvious solution," he said, with a masterful display of apparent total indifference, doing up his belt.

"And you don't mind?"

"Doubtless you intended to be there for much of the time anyway. I have been meaning to sort through my possessions for some time; there will be space." The somewhat awkward silence that followed was broken by Crookshanks, who moved to sit at Severus' feet and meowed, staring up at the wizard. He looked down at the cat and raised an eyebrow. "I may even be persuaded to put a cat flap in the door," he added sourly.

Trying not to laugh at that, she crossed the room to stand in front of him, touching his face. "And I won't be in the way?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, you'll be extremely in the way. Without the irritation of your presence I could be throwing wild parties for all my vast array of friends, but once you are a permanent fixture instead of a semi-permanent one my life as I know it will end."

"You're overdoing the sarcasm just a little, Severus."

"And you're overdoing the questions. If I objected, I would not have offered – or did you think I was doing so out of the goodness of my heart?" he asked with heavy irony, looking down at her. "My spare keys are in the top drawer of my desk. This weekend I shall begin sorting through my things."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I have a class to teach," he replied flatly, turning away and heading for the door – she might have been upset by the abrupt departure, except for two things. One, as he turned away there had been a clear flash of relief and an almost-smile in his eyes; two, his hand brushed hers, just for a moment.

* * *

By late October she had noticed his mood changing, and not for the better; he was noticeably more short-tempered and snappish, and his old sleeping patterns were reasserting themselves. He seldom slept for more than an hour or two at a time now, and she frequently woke to find him absent; she would curl up with Crookshanks and the Marauder's Map and watch him restlessly prowling the castle. In his rare better moods, he had apologised – in his own way, i.e. without at any point explicitly saying that he was sorry and yet somehow managing to convey that impression – but it wasn't easy to deal with.

They argued more often; Hermione understood the reasons for this mood and tried not to respond when he baited her, but this only drove him to greater efforts and he returned to something of the sneering viciousness she recalled from her younger days.

"He's deliberately trying to pick fights," she complained to Luna the weekend before Halloween. "I know he's upset, but this isn't going to help, and it hurts. He's starting to be really spiteful."

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully before giving Hermione her most unfocused and dreamy stare and replying vaguely, "Who else does he have to fight with?"

"What?" Hermione asked blankly.

"He's not going to sit and talk about his feelings. You know that. Arguments are safe; if he's feeling angry, he's not hurting. How many people do you know who lash out when they're feeling vulnerable? And you're the only one he trusts. He can't pick on anyone else without revealing how much he's hurting."

She thought about this for a while. In a perverse and twisted way, it made sense; it did seem like the sort of logic Severus would use. Recalling some of their most recent fights, she sighed. "And, of course, he's so chewed up with self loathing at the moment that he's trying to drive me away to give himself another reason to be miserable. I swear he doesn't believe he deserves to be happy."

"Probably not," Luna agreed mildly. "How far is he going when you argue?"

She knew what her friend was really asking and shook her head. "It's not that bad, not yet. He's being spiteful and nasty, but he's not being really personal. I don't believe he'd go that far; he knows I could hurt him just as much, if not more. You're right, he just wants... I don't know, a distraction, or to punish himself; or both, probably. Not that that makes it any better."

"He'll be all right once Halloween's past," the Ravenclaw said encouragingly. She smiled brightly. "And I expect you can make him feel guilty for being so horrible. That always sounds like fun when I hear people talk about it."

Hermione smothered a laugh. "It's not as fun as you'd think. Harry gets sulky, and Ron always looks like a kicked spaniel. I've not tried it with Severus, but I'm certain he'd know what I was doing and either get angry with me or shut himself off and go all cold and distant again. Besides, I'm sure he's got more than enough to feel guilty about... I don't want to play those sorts of games with him."

"Well, then, I think all you can do is wait it out. You could try fighting back, if he gives you an opening to turn it into one of those stupid fights that neither of you really wants and that just gets ridiculous. Or just leave him to it; he's coped alone all these years. I doubt he's comfortable having you see it now."

"Maybe. Thanks, Luna. I just needed to vent a bit."

"Go and vent at him. It'll probably do you both good."

* * *

In the end, she had gone with Luna's second piece of advice, and left him to it. Surprisingly, Crookshanks had followed her example – in fact, he had beaten her to it; in the middle of an argument, the half-Kneazle hissed to draw their attention, then gave Severus a filthy look of utter disapproval and walked out.

"Maybe that's for the best," Hermione said quietly as Crookshanks' tail disappeared around the edge of the door. "I don't think either of us being here so often is helping while things are so bad. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"If that's what you want," he replied flatly, no longer sounding angry. He had reverted to the emotionless blank state that she so disliked.

"I want what's going to help you feel better, Severus, and right now I'm making it worse. So I'm going to back off for a little while and let you find your balance again and decide what you want. But I don't intend staying away for long, so make sure you're back to your usual self soon; I want to see the man, not the mask."

Before she had even left his quarters, she heard the door to his laboratory slam so hard that the floor shook, and winced. _I hope I'm doing the right thing.

* * *

_Severus avoided her after that; she might have taken it personally, except that he was avoiding everyone, even more emphatically than he usually did. When he wasn't teaching, he spent the time holed up in his lab, as far as she could tell, and clearly didn't want company. He hadn't changed the password to his rooms, but she knew what her reception would be and stayed clear. It was up to him to make the next move this time.

He was at the Halloween feast, naturally; he wouldn't have revealed his feelings by asking to be excused from it, but he spent the entire meal playing with his food and keeping his eyes fixed on his plate. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she studied the tension in his hunched shoulders and noted the way he angled his head to ensure that his hair – in need of washing, by the look of it – hid as much of his face as possible, and knew he was hurting badly. She also doubted he had slept at all over the past couple of nights; then again, she hadn't slept much either. She missed him.

That night Hermione woke to the awareness that something had changed, and some instinct warned her to stay still and keep her eyes closed. She strained her ears, trying to hear a sound that didn't belong, but there was nothing except the nagging sense that she wasn't alone. Crookshanks was off hunting, and it wasn't an animal anyway; she knew exactly who it was. There were only two people in Hogwarts who could get into her rooms without her permission, and only one of them wouldn't announce themselves.

"Severus, what are you doing?" she asked wearily. "I thought you wanted to be on your own."

The silence grew more oppressive. She listened to the faint tick of her bedroom clock, counting the seconds, and it was fully three and a half minutes before there was any response.

"So did I," he said finally in a very small voice.

Opening her eyes, she blinked, allowing her vision to adjust to the near-darkness. Just enough moonlight filtered around the edges of her curtains to let her see the patch of deeper shadow near the door. "How long have you been standing there?"

There was another tense silence, although it didn't last quite as long as the first. "...I don't know," he admitted uncomfortably.

Rather than use an illumination spell, she flicked her wand at the window, opening the curtains just enough to allow a little more natural light into the room. Now she could see him more clearly; he was leaning against the wall and staring at the floor. Sitting up, she watched him until it became obvious that he wasn't going to look at her or speak again. "Why are you here?" she asked finally, bluntly.

Severus shifted uneasily, and when he answered he sounded as hesitant and unhappy as she had ever heard him. "I wanted to – to apologise." She considered asking him what for, but decided that it would be petty and spiteful to make him say it. Maybe he deserved it, but it wasn't completely his fault, and he was trying to make amends now. When she didn't answer him, he moved his head slightly, and she caught the gleam of his eyes shrouded behind the curtains of hair as he glanced at her before returning his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

It was tempting to ignore it, to throw it back in his face, and maybe he did deserve it, but Hermione knew she didn't have it in her to be that cruel. She suspected they were both thinking of Lily, who had rejected his apology so many years ago despite his best efforts to explain that he hadn't meant it, that he had been hurting and humiliated. If she did the same thing to him now... she couldn't even begin to imagine the damage it would do to him.

"So you should be," she told him quietly. "You've been a real bastard recently."

"I know." She heard him swallow. "I have no excuses," he said quietly, with a catch in his voice. "I just – I'm sorry." He sounded genuinely upset, and raised a hand to his face for a moment before letting it fall to his side once more. "I'm no good at this," he added hopelessly.

"At apologising? No, you're not," she told him bluntly, and he actually flinched.

"No, not that. At... this. Us. If there is an 'us'. I don't know – how to act around other people. I haven't – haven't lived with anyone since I was a teenager. When I'm on my own, nobody cares what I say or do, it doesn't matter how I feel because it's only me. I'm used to that. But – when you're there, it – it confuses things, because I don't know what's happening any more and everything feels less certain. I don't know what I should be thinking or feeling, and I _hate _Halloween, and none of my usual ways of coping have worked, and I've been watching myself – being a bastard, and it felt like there was no point in trying to stop it because it's going to happen anyway because that's what I am. I've fucked up everything I've ever done. And this isn't... isn't what I wanted to say, damn it."

"You're not drunk, are you?" she asked before she could stop herself; this was so completely unlike Severus that all she could think of was last New Year and his rambling, inarticulate and pain-filled account of his life.

He made a choked sound that was possibly supposed to be a bitter laugh. "No." After a long moment he sighed, defeated. "I'll go. I'm making this worse. I don't even know what I'm trying to say."

"Well, that makes two of us," Hermione answered tightly, touched despite herself by his obvious struggle. He was trying so hard to explain how he felt, when he didn't know himself, and it seemed that when it came to relationships he was even less experienced than she was. She tried to answer him as best she could, reining in her temper. "There's no rule book, Severus. There's nothing you _should _be thinking, or feeling. And even if there were... we're not exactly conventional people, either of us. Whatever this is, it confuses me, too. I know you hate Halloween. I know why, at least most of the reasons. I don't even mind you taking it out on me, a little, because I'm here and there isn't anyone else. What I don't like is that you feel you have to be so spiteful and cold because it's somehow expected of you. You're trying to punish yourself, and you're trying to push me away because you feel safer back in your isolation. It's cowardly, it's not fair to me, and it's not worthy of you."

Her use of the word _coward _had been deliberate. She had seen Harry's memory of the night Dumbledore had died and she had seen how he had reacted to the insult; she knew it remained one of his triggers. His entire body jerked, his breath catching, but she wasn't prepared for his reaction. She had expected rage, fury, perhaps even the threat of violence, and she had her wand ready; what she hadn't expected was for him to say very quietly in a choked voice, "Please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't use... _that _against me. Please."

"I don't understand," she said slowly.

There was a long silence. When Severus spoke again, his voice was surprisingly even, although a little hoarse and rough. "People have been using my emotions against me for longer than you have been alive. I can't bear it any more, especially not from you. You know me better than anyone ever has – you know everything you'd need to break me once and for all. I _am _a – a coward. I'm scared half out of my mind, because I can't control this and I don't know what the hell I'm doing and I won't be able to stop it when it all falls apart. And it _will, _because I'm too – broken. I don't have it in me – I can't be what you... what you deserve."

Tears stung the back of her eyes. "Oh, Severus," she said softly, getting out of bed and padding over to him, brushing his hair out of his face and trying to make him look at her. "I keep telling you that you're a far better man than you think you are. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter. I don't want some hypothetical perfect man – even if he existed, I'd be bored to death within a month. A friend told me once that I need someone I can argue with, someone who can keep up with me, someone who can challenge me. She was right. I need someone complicated, someone who's intelligent and brave and – and a snarky git," she added, smiling despite herself. "This scares me, too, but... in a good way, I think. You're not broken, not completely. A bit damaged, perhaps, but so am I. If this does fall apart, we'll just put it back together."

He had closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at her, but some of the rigid lines of his face had softened a little. "Just like that, I suppose."

"In between all my other little projects, yes," she said offhandedly.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he opened his eyes at last. It was difficult to read his expression in the dim light, but he had relaxed slightly. "Insufferable Gryffindor," he murmured, with the faintest hint of a questioning, hopeful note in his voice.

"Obstinate bastard," she shot back. He smiled then, although traces of sorrow remained in his expression. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him gently on the lips. "Come to bed, Severus. We both need some sleep. I'm amazed you haven't killed any students this week."

He followed her docilely in silence, stripping down to his trousers and waiting as she crawled back under the covers before she shifted over to let him slide in beside her. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him close, and after a moment he turned his face into her neck and settled into her embrace without saying anything. Closing her eyes, she savoured the familiar warmth of his body and the much-missed scent of him, and was soon asleep.

* * *

_Hmm...  
_


	17. Chapter 17

_This is a complicated chapter; pay attention.__ The next one is going to be very important, too.  


* * *

_

**"We open up a quarrel between the present and the past  
****We only sacrifice the future; it's the bitterness that lasts...****"**  
– Mike & The Mechanics, 'The Living Years'.

* * *

Over the next week she watched him find his equilibrium once more; his sleep grew easier and his moods less dark. He hadn't argued with her again, even in jest, and was apparently on his best behaviour; she had to laugh when she found him attempting to mollify Crookshanks with unashamed bribery in the form of fresh kippers. Seeing him returning to the man she knew made it easier to bear her own developing dark mood as November got under way.

Towards the end of the month her nightmares surfaced once more. Hermione pretended that nothing was wrong, despite knowing that he knew damned well what this time of year meant, and he allowed her the pretence for a while, feigning sleep when she woke in the middle of the night and pretending not to notice her increasing weariness. She didn't miss the fact that he had the ingredients for Dreamless Sleep lying on a bench in the corner of his lab, but he hadn't presumed to actually brew it, so she said nothing.

Finally one night she woke in tears from one of the worst dreams – no horrors, nothing to make her scream, just pain and grief and a little voice wailing inside that it wasn't her fault – and realised that Severus wasn't pretending any more. He was half sitting up and had drawn her closely into his arms; he was speaking very softly and apparently had been talking for quite some time before she woke.

"...wrong, Hermione, all of them were wrong. I know everyone who knows what you did to your parents was horrified by it, but there is no shame in wanting to protect your loved ones. You could not have been the only one to take such drastic steps. What horrified them is that you did it so well, that you are so strong. They fear you. Your parents were afraid because they do not understand; all Muggleborns endure the same thing eventually, and it is just unfortunate that the circumstances in this instance were so extreme. _Damnant quod non intellegunt; _people condemn what they do not understand_._ What you did saved their lives, never doubt that. Your parents were targets. I _know. _I do not think I could have protected them – I do not know if I would even have tried. You were right to act as you did, and if nobody else has the wit to see it then that is their problem and not yours. You were right, and they were wrong..."

He kept talking softly, repeating himself sometimes, his voice a deep rumble in the darkness, and she closed her eyes against her tears and listened to the quiet affirmation and vindication until finally her sobs eased and she could breathe once more. "I wish everyone were as smart as you," she said shakily in a small voice.

Severus stopped talking abruptly, apparently surprised that she was awake, and after a moment responded lightly, "The world would be a fearsome place if they were."

Sniffing inelegantly, she managed a smile and tried to dry her eyes, but she couldn't seem to stop crying. Long fingers gently wiped her tears, smoothing the skin under her eyes tenderly; the soft act was a contrast with his voice as he commented dryly, "You really are not attractive when you cry."

"I know," she replied, almost laughing as she accepted the tissue he handed her and sat up to blow her nose. "It makes a bad situation worse."

He huffed out an exasperated breath. "Don't start that nonsense again. You are lovely, far more so than you believe. When you're not puffy-eyed, and blotchy, and hot..." he added with a hint of mockery, gently brushing her damp hair back from her face.

"Careful, Slytherin," she managed as her tears finally slowed. "That was very nearly a compliment."

"Actually, it _was _a compliment. Your emotions seem to be affecting your understanding," he drawled with a disdainful sneer before he wrapped his arms around her and drew her down to lie against his chest, brushing her temple with a gentle kiss.

"Thank you. Bastard." Hermione cuddled close against his warm skin, closing her eyes as her head began to ache. "Was I really right?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he replied instantly. After a pause he added somewhat dryly, "Although I suppose you should consider who it is that is saying so." He rested his cheek against her hair. "Moral questions never have simple yes or no answers, Hermione, and no two situations are ever the same. I don't know all the circumstances and I don't know all your thoughts before you decided to do what you did. But you had only their wellbeing at heart, and I can assure you with certainty that they would have been dead within six months had you not acted as you did. The Order did not have the resources to protect everyone, as you well know. I believe that you were in the right."

"Then why does it still feel so wrong?"

"Betrayal always does," Severus replied quietly and with feeling; he knew that better than anyone. "And the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. What you did _could _have been the first step along a very dark path indeed; that is why so many people feared it."

"But not you?" she asked hesitantly.

He chuckled softly and kissed her hair. "No. If anyone could resist the temptations of the dark, it is you. Without you, Potter would have been lost, you know. He came very close to the edge. _Facilis descensus Averno; _the descent to Hell is easy. But I _know_ you, Hermione. You would never do anything without considering all possible consequences, you would never do anything for the wrong reasons and you would never make a less than informed choice. Of all the possible fates that await you, the dark is not one of them."

"I could do the same to you."

That brought open laughter from him. "Don't be ridiculous. Neither the Dark Lord nor Albus Dumbledore could break through my shields. However talented you are and however much you have no doubt been practicing, you are no threat to me, at least not with Legilimency or memory charms. And did I not just say that you would not do such a thing? If you do not cease talking nonsense, I will have to dose you with something."

"I'm allowed to worry."

"Not about this, you aren't, because it is utterly ridiculous and I forbid it."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Do you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Now go to sleep."

She snuggled closer against him obediently and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn't come, and she could tell from the feel of his body and the rhythm of his breathing that he was wide awake and not even trying to sleep. Slowly she began to trace his bare chest with her fingertips, eyes closed as she followed scars over muscle, along bone and through hair; when she traced one of his nipples with the ball of her thumb he spoke in a low voice.

"That isn't going to sleep, now, is it?"

"I don't want to sleep, not when I feel like this," she told him truthfully. "Make me feel better, Severus, please."

"You're upset..."

"Yes, and I don't want to be." She looked at him, reaching up to caress his face, feeling the faint rasp of stubble under her fingers as she traced his jaw. "Make love to me?" she asked softly. He didn't answer, but when she drew her hand away he shifted and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he reached to draw her close and kissed her gently. This was what she really needed, Hermione realised as she kissed him back; whether or not Severus actually loved her, he could certainly make her feel it, and right now she desperately wanted to feel loved.

He was as tender as she had ever known him, seeming to recognise her need without her having to say anything, and he spent a long time slowly exploring every inch of her skin with his mouth and his fingers. It wasn't even overtly sexual at first, just slow and gentle and comforting as he stroked her skin and planted soft kisses on her body. Gradually his touch changed, although she would be hard pressed to explain exactly how, and became less comforting as her need intensified; beginning to ache for him, she shivered and whispered his name as his mouth found her breasts and he began to suckle and tease her hardened nipples.

Still moving slowly, Severus kissed and nuzzled his way down her stomach to bury his dark head between her thighs, lingering and teasing a little before his actions became more certain and more deliberate. As his tongue licked and probed, she tangled her fingers in his hair and surrendered to the feelings his talented mouth brought her, as he successfully wiped out all coherent thought.

His mouth tasted of her when he kissed her once more, musky sweetness mixing with his own flavour, and she kissed him back with all the passion she could muster as his weight gently pressed her down against the pillows. When he paused to look down at her, she knew from the look in his eyes that if she said so, he would stop and move away; having brought her pleasure, he would ignore his own, at least for tonight. Shifting her hips to press more tightly against him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, sliding her hands up the scarred skin of his back to grip his shoulders, and he kissed her again as he pushed into her.

Even now, his movements were almost painfully slow and gentle, but no less intense for that; looking up into the endless dark depths of his eyes as he moved above her, Hermione let go and gave in to the rolling rhythm of his body, abandoning herself to him as completely as she ever had, and in the midst of her release she heard him whisper her name as he came.

* * *

During a miserable stormy weekend in mid-November, Hermione was attempting to mark essays, hindered by Severus pacing and muttering to himself. Finally she sighed and gave up on work, looking over at him. "Severus, what are you doing, and is there any way you could do it somewhere else?"

He looked up, blinked, then sneered at her, apparently automatically. "In case you have forgotten, these are my rooms." He walked over to where she sat. "I am trying to rework my wards."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because I can't be bothered with passwords any more, and because they aren't terribly secure," he explained. "I want to set them up so they are keyed to specific people, rather than specific words."

"I didn't think that was possible inside Hogwarts. Oh, wait – you can overcome the security spells, can't you? I keep forgetting that."

He smirked. "That is somewhat careless of you."

"Oh, please. It's not as if I mind you getting into my rooms whenever you please – I assure you there's nothing amongst my possessions that you haven't seen before," she replied dryly. "Or are you going to confess that you sneaked in last year to go through my underwear drawer or something?"

"Don't be absurd," he replied disdainfully, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"So is it difficult to redo the wards?"

"No, but it isn't something I have experimented with before, so it will take a little time. I did not realise I was speaking aloud," he added in one of his patented not-apologies.

"You were. In Latin, incidentally. You're the only person I know who can actually speak it – you and President Bartlett from The West Wing."

"Hmph," he replied distractedly, crossing to one of his bookshelves and beginning to flick through a volume. "Given that most spells are either in Latin or a facsimile of Latin, I never understood why nobody else seems to bother to learn it. A spell is far easier if you know what it actually means, as well as what it does, and it is invaluable if you wish to create a spell."

"I always look up the translation of new spells. I did consider learning the language once, but I got bogged down in all the grammar and gave up," Hermione confessed. "I'm not much of a linguist, but you speak a lot of languages, don't you?"

"A few, yes," he answered absently, rapidly scanning the pages. "Travelling for so long, I picked up a lot. I'm not truly fluent in most of them, though. Ah, here we are..." He trailed off, focusing on his reading, and she grinned as she returned to her essays – she and Severus really were very alike in some ways.

About an hour later he looked up from where he had been working by the door, pushing his hair back from his face. Hermione had been watching him as she worked, but there wasn't much to see; he had been prodding the door handle with his wand and muttering in what seemed to be Latin, and tracing a complicated pattern around the frame, but if there was any effect she couldn't see it. "I think we're there."

"Yes?" she asked interestedly, putting her quill down and walking over to him.

"I think so." Standing stiffly, he rolled his shoulders, before tapping the door with his wand. "_Revelio._" Glowing runes appeared along the doorframe and shimmered with a faint blue light; Severus studied the results critically before placing the tip of his wand in the keyhole, and the runes shimmered and changed to green.

"Slytherin wards?" she asked with a grin.

"Impertinence," he murmured. "No." The runes grew lighter until they were almost white, then cooled to blue once more. Taking his wand away, he slid it into his belt. "If you will lend me your wand for a moment, I shall ensure that the wards recognise you."

"And what will they do to anyone they _don't _recognise?" she asked sceptically, drawing her wand. He smirked, but whatever he would have said in reply was lost when he took her wand; his eyes went wide and he swore, dropping it hastily and staring at it in utter shock.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, startled. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he answered distantly, still staring at the wand as he flexed his fingers. "That was... unexpected."

"Did it hurt?" she asked, remembering the times she had picked up someone else's wand – some of them had not reacted well.

"No. No, it... it didn't hurt." He still seemed a little shocked. Swallowing, he frowned warily at the slender length of vine wood, before very cautiously reaching down to touch it once more; he shivered as his fingers closed over it, but straightened and kept hold of it. "Strange..."

"_What's _strange?" she demanded in exasperation. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he snapped back. He flexed his grip cautiously, half-closing his eyes and shivering again. "May I try a spell?" he asked.

"Go ahead."

He looked around and picked up her coffee mug from that morning. "_Aguamenti._" Hermione watched, utterly mystified; the spell looked like it had worked normally, producing a cup now full of slightly coffee-coloured water, but Severus was frowning as he muttered, "_Evanesco._"

"Feel free to explain at any time," she said sarcastically.

"My apologies. I... am not sure what happened. It feels... almost like recognition."

"My wand recognises you?"

"In a sense, but not the way I would have expected. It doesn't work properly for me, I can feel it is not compatible, but... there is something. A sense of... I cannot precisely describe it. Acknowledgement, perhaps?"

"That's weird. Has it happened before?"

"No. Then again, I don't make a habit of handling others' wands," he replied absently, still frowning at the wand. "Are you willing to experiment?"

"Severus, remember who you're talking to," she laughed, and he looked up with a faint smile.

"Of course; how remiss of me."

"What sort of experiment did you have in mind?"

He carefully laid her wand down on the table and drew his own, placing it beside hers. "What is your wand made of?"

"Vine wood and phoenix feather."

He frowned. "I thought it was dragon heartstring."

"That was my old wand. The Malfoys broke it when the Snatchers took us in the war. My new one is still made from vine wood, but with a different core – Mr. Ollivander found it very interesting."

"He would. Well, so much for that theory."

"What theory?"

"My wand is dragon heartstring. I wondered if they shared cores, but apparently not." He shrugged. "Take my wand, please. I don't think it will hurt. Yours didn't hurt me..."

"...But your wand is likely to be more aggressive than mine, if that's the right word," she finished wryly. "It can't be any worse than Bellatrix's wand. That felt like it was biting me the first time I touched it. I had to use hers after we escaped," she added, and he nodded.

"I know. I was watching the three of you closely, when I could. It was in my best interests to do so, after all, since if you had failed I would have had to take over." He smiled unpleasantly. "She was amusingly furious that _you_ had stolen her wand. At one point she was actually foaming at the mouth. As for when she found out you had impersonated her to get into her vault..." He chuckled softly. "She very nearly had a seizure. I could barely keep a straight face. That wasn't the strategy I would have used, but it was... inspired."

"I'm absolutely devastated to think that I might have upset the crazy bitch," Hermione replied, deadpan, and he chuckled again before gesturing vaguely to the wands on the table. "Your wand is rowan, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, what they call 'flying rowan' – an epiphyte growing on another tree. An aspen in this case, I believe."

More curious than afraid, she reached out and picked up the slim length of dark wood, and gasped sharply at the contact; it felt almost like a shock, but as he had said, it didn't hurt. In fact... She raised her eyebrows as she realised just how much it _didn't _hurt, shivering in her turn. "Um. Well. That is definitely... interesting."

"Indeed."

It was definitely some form of recognition, but nothing she knew. When both her wands had chosen her, she had felt warmth and a sense almost of welcome, a connection; this was different. An acknowledgement, Severus had called it, and she agreed. She could almost feel his magic under her fingertips, darker and cooler than her own. It was a very odd sensation, but certainly not unpleasant. Rather the opposite, actually, and she felt her heart beating faster. Picking up the now-empty coffee mug, she dropped it on the floor, and pointed his wand at the mess. "_Reparo._" No, the wand definitely wasn't compatible; it worked, but not smoothly. It felt like a grudging surrender, and she stifled a laugh. "It's definitely _your_ wand. I can almost feel it humouring me."

He snorted softly. "Yours felt much the same."

Carefully she put it down. "What does it mean?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "I don't know much wand lore. Not many do." Abruptly seeming to remember what had started this, he gingerly picked up her wand again and turned to the door, setting the tip in the keyhole. The runes shimmered green once more, turning white before cooling to blue again. Handing it back to her, he retrieved his own wand and tapped the frame; the runes darkened and faded slowly until there was no sign that the door was warded.

"Would Ollivander know?" she asked, and saw by the flicker in his eyes that he didn't really want to tell the wand maker about it.

"Perhaps," he answered reluctantly.

"Oh, don't look like that. I'll go to the library later and see what I can find out."

"Ah, yes. In times of crisis, or boredom, Hermione Granger must go to the library," he drawled.

"You sound like Ron – well, a more eloquent version of Ron, anyway."

"Don't be insulting."

* * *

The library yielded nothing, so Hermione chose to ask Minerva in the quiet staff room, "Do you happen to know much about wand lore?"

"Why do you ask?" Minerva inquired.

"Well, something strange happened the other day when I touched someone else's wand..." She carefully explained a few of the details.

Minerva smiled suddenly. "Would this 'someone' be your mysterious older wizard?"

"How – Neville!"

"It wasn't his fault; I'm good at getting secrets out of people – although he didn't know much to give away. You're being unfairly secretive, my dear," the Headmistress said reproachfully.

Hermione gave her best imitation of Severus' smirk. "I know." She could see the real thing from where Severus himself sat unobserved in his usual corner, apparently finding the conversation vastly amusing, and she was very glad she had already told him that she had been talking about him with her friends; she didn't want to imagine the explosion that would result had he learned by accident. He had found the situation humorous, much to her relief, and had approved of her Slytherin methods. "As it happens, yes, it was his. My wand did the same thing when he touched it, too. Is that relevant?"

"Are your wands siblings?" Minerva suggested.

"No, we thought of that. They're made from different woods, and have different cores."

"And you say it wasn't compatibility..."

"No. We can use one another's wands, but they don't work properly. Our magics are too different."

"Are you skilled in the same areas?"

"No. There's virtually no overlap." They had discussed it as a possible theory already. Hermione's main strengths were Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and some Healing – mostly diseases and afflictions – which were all areas where Severus was weaker. His own skills were more aggressive – curses and hexes, Defence, dark magic, Occlumency and Legilimency, and of course Potions; and his own Healing abilities were almost exclusively restricted to wounds. Only in Charms and Healing was there any overlap at all, and even then the subjects seemed fairly neatly split between the two of them; she said as much now.

"Now that is interesting," Minerva said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it explains it... his wand may have recognised you because you possess everything he lacks, and vice versa, as if you were two halves of a whole."

"Foolish sentimentality," Severus growled scornfully, although Hermione suspected he was almost as startled as she was by the theory, especially coming from Minerva McGonagall, who as he had once said was one of the least sentimental people either of them knew.

"So what do _you _think it is, then?" Minerva challenged him. "No doubt you have a theory, probably one that puts the rest of us to shame."

He shrugged indifferently. "Perhaps it was mere coincidence. I don't care to waste my time speculating when I have no interest in the outcome."

"Ignore him, Hermione. Merlin knows, the rest of us do. Magically the two of you are complete opposites?"

"As far as I know," she replied awkwardly, only too aware of how the rest of the faculty did their best to ignore Severus whenever possible. "Obviously we haven't sat down and analysed our grades or anything, but in everything we've encountered we seem to be opposite."

"Maybe it's just because you're a couple," Minerva suggested. "If Patronuses can change because of unrequited love, there's no reason why wands wouldn't recognise the real thing."

"How touching," Severus sneered from his corner. "I may vomit." Hermione suspected the reference to Patronuses had struck a nerve; then again, given that neither of them had mentioned love in any way this really wasn't a good time to discuss it.

"Stop it, Severus," Minerva snapped at him. "You of all people should know that love has power."

There was a deadly silence; Severus' eyes were as cold as Hermione had ever seen them. A muscle twitched briefly under one eye, but his expression remained blank. Minerva appeared a little taken aback by what she had said, and although she tried to meet his angry stare she was forced to look away. Finally he did speak, his voice clipped and harsh. "Not everything Dumbledore said was gospel truth. Astonishing as it may seem, he was frequently wrong."

"You intend to deny that it was love that saved Harry?" the Headmistress asked incredulously. "Even though you witnessed it?"

"I did not 'witness it'," he snarled. "On any of the occasions you are thinking of. I had other things to do."

"Don't be so pedantic. You know what I mean. I can't believe you're arguing."

"I would like to say that I cannot believe you accept it so blindly, but it would be a lie. I can readily believe it of you. None of you ever actually stopped to think; you all just blithely accepted Dumbledore's glittery fantasy."

"You can't justify that."

"Can I not?" he asked, with a queer gleam in his eyes. "Then consider this point. The Dark Lord was personally responsible for hundreds of deaths, if not thousands; his followers killed many more. Out of all those countless victims, do you really believe that Lily Potter was the only one to sacrifice herself trying to save her loved ones? Even I never believed her to be quite that much of a saint. Many died, passively and willingly, in the hope of buying their families time to run. It didn't save anyone else from the Killing Curse. Whatever saved precious Potter, it wasn't his mother's love," he sneered, with all the malicious contempt his voice could hold – which was quite a lot.

Hermione tried not to gape; that had never once occurred to her. He was right; she had naïvely accepted Dumbledore's explanation. It was also incredibly surprising that Severus was talking about this in front of other people; even to her, he rarely mentioned Lily, whether by name or indirectly. Minerva looked equally stunned; in a few brief sentences Severus had just turned one of the most steadfast beliefs of the Order on its head.

"What was it, then?" Hermione asked faintly, both because she wanted to know the answer and to try and defuse a very tense and potentially situation. "Why didn't the Killing Curse work? You must have a theory."

Severus took a deep breath, visibly attempting to regain control of his temper. "There is no way to prove it."

"Even so..."

"The Unforgiveable Curses are curses of intention as well as power," he said curtly. "Saying the words isn't enough. You cannot successfully cast the Killing Curse unless you truly wish that person to die, and a strong part of that must necessarily involve your reasons for wishing them dead. The Dark Lord wished Potter dead because he feared him and saw him as a rival – _'He will mark him as his equal.'_ At the moment of casting, he treated the boy as someone equivalent to himself, doubtless the only time he ever did so; perhaps that explains it, somewhat. Or perhaps the planets were all in alignment, or that fickle bitch Destiny reached out a pale hand," he added snidely. "How should I know?"

"Dumbledore said that the Dark Lord couldn't touch Harry because of that love," Hermione said slowly. "Was that wrong, as well?"

"No, that one may have been true. The Dark Lord avoided physical contact with anyone, most of the time. He was so inhuman by then that it is possible any pure emotion might have harmed him. There is no way to know for certain."

"So how do you explain what Harry did in the final battle, when his sacrifice protected us all?" Minerva snapped, challenging him; she seemed to have taken it as a personal affront.

Severus rounded on her, his eyes blazing. "How am I supposed to know? I have no idea what he did or did not do. I was busy trying not to _bleed to death _at that point," he spat, "and unfortunately I missed the grand finale because my heart had only just started beating again!" He was standing now, fury in every line of his body, and the power of his looming presence seemed to fill the room which suddenly seemed both darker and colder than before.

"It's your own fault you were there!" the Headmistress shouted back at him, her accent thickening in her anger. "You _chose _that fate when you knelt to Voldemort! Traitors get the reward they deserve, Snape!"

Unfocused, raw magic crackled in the air. Severus' eyes had gone dangerously blank; there was no sense of personality there now, only bitter savage pain and rage without form or focus. The look in his eyes wasn't even human.

"Don't you _dare_, Minerva," someone snapped. "If it weren't for Severus, we'd all be dead, or we'd wish we were. Without him, everything would have been lost. Even Harry admits it. He saved us all, and all he got in return was universal hatred. He isn't a traitor! He chose to die for us, and _this_ is how we repaid him."

At that point Hermione realised that the voice was her own, and stopped talking hastily. Minerva was staring at her, and so was Severus, who at least looked sane now – albeit extremely shocked.

"Well said, my dear," a new voice remarked, drawing their eyes to a portrait frame on the wall. Hermione recognised one of the former Headmistresses; behind her stood many of the other Heads of Hogwarts, as many as could squeeze into the frame.

"Dilys," Severus said quietly.

The woman shook her head at him. "Don't you 'Dilys' me, Severus Snape," she scolded. "A full year and a term you've been back, and not a word to any of us."

"She's been complaining constantly about your bad manners," a familiar male voice drawled, and Phineas Nigellus Black moved to the front of the crowd. "I see you're as popular as ever."

"Slytherin pride demands it," Severus responded with a peculiarly lopsided smile.

"Severus..." The other portraits shuffled aside to make way for the speaker, and Albus Dumbledore stood at the edge of the frame, looking down at the younger wizard. "My boy... it is so very good to see you."

Severus swallowed, the careful mask wavering a little. "Headmaster," he acknowledged in a slightly rough voice.

"Dilys is right to scold," Dumbledore remarked, his eyes twinkling even now. "You really should have visited us. Your loss was a terrible one, and we were relieved beyond measure to hear that you had survived."

"You're the only ones, then," he muttered, but his heart didn't seem to be in it; Hermione could see his uncertainty.

"Nonsense," Dilys snapped at him. "This formidable young woman seems willing to see sense, at least. It's nice to see someone willing to admit what's right."

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," Phineas greeted her in a surprisingly mild tone.

"That's an unusually civil attitude for you," she replied suspiciously, eyeing the portrait sideways. One of the other former Headmasters snickered.

"Perhaps Phineas recalls what happened the last time he insulted you in Severus' hearing," Dumbledore suggested cheerfully, smiling slightly. "Three weeks, I believe the silencing charm lasted."

Minerva had finally regained control of her tongue. "Enough," she said a little breathlessly. "I ask that you don't interfere."

"Oh, stop it," Dilys said with a roll of her eyes. "Miss Granger was absolutely right, and you know it. Leave Severus alone. You have no idea what he went through. Stop provoking the boy and let him go."

"Dilys. Behave." Severus sounded more amused than anything, and seemed to be almost back to his old self – outwardly, at least.

"'Boy'?" Hermione questioned mischievously. "He's nearly fifty."

"And I was a hundred and eighty seven when I died," Dilys shot back, smiling. "Besides, we first saw Severus as a skinny lad of eleven, hauled up in front of the Headmaster for a scolding – the first of many, I might add."

"Stop trying to embarrass him, Dilys," Dumbledore said lightly. "You know it never works. She's right, though, Minerva – Hermione has the right of it. You know that. Let the past remain buried. Doubtless the two of them have better things to do than watch as you allow your temper to get the best of you, and I wished to speak with you in any case. Severus, we expect to see you soon, to hear all about what happened to you. No excuses. Good afternoon, Hermione."

* * *

In short order the two found themselves in the corridor outside, both a little shocked by everything that had just happened. Leaning against the wall, Hermione took several deep breaths before asking faintly, "They showed up just to defend you, didn't they?"

"Probably, although they may have intervened to protect McGonagall – they are sworn to aid her as the current Headmistress, after all, and I was on the brink of hexing her. Their efforts on my behalf would have been somewhat unnecessary, with you there," he replied quietly, looking a little ragged around the edges as complex emotions flickered through his eyes. "You're quite the little hellcat when you're angry," he added, smiling a little.

"It caught me by surprise," she admitted. "But Minerva went too far. Way too far."

"No, she didn't," he replied wearily.

"Yes, she did, but I'm not going to waste my breath arguing with you," she told him airily, knowing she would never convince him. "Do you think Albus knows, or was that just him being annoyingly cryptic?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but I imagine he merely suspects something. They've all been trying to keep track of me since my return; I'm sure they've noticed how much time we spend together. None of them will say anything, I assure you." He sounded... almost fond, in a strange way. Evidently spending most of a year virtually barricaded in his office to try and avoid all the people who hated him, with only the portraits of his dead predecessors to encourage and support him, had led to a few odd almost-friendships forming.

"Did you really silence Phineas for three weeks?"

"Yes."

"What did – oh, wait... Never mind. I think I can guess what he called me." That would explain it. Severus had always hated the term Mudblood, with good reason. "Does Dilys always speak to you like that?"

"Yes," he said wryly. "She always has. Her portrait took an interest in me once it became obvious that I was going to be a regular visitor to the Headmaster's office; she also spends a great deal of time in the hospital wing, where I was an equally frequent visitor."

"So you've got your own personal fan club?"

He snorted a laugh. "So it seems; lucky me."

"Are you all right?" she asked more softly, and saw him considering whether or not to lie before shrugging slightly; that earlier blank, not-quite-sane rage still lurked behind his eyes.

"I think so."

"Come on. I'll cook tonight; you deserve a break."

* * *

_I have PTL fanart for you, courtesy of **RaShelli**! _rashelli dot deviantart dot com /#/d39o9q2 _Admire the fanart. Admire it, I say.  
_


	18. Chapter 18

_This is one of the chapters people have been waiting for, I think - pay attention. A bit of angst, too - okay, a lot of angst__.  


* * *

_

**"****In the night I hear you speak**  
** Turn around, you're in my sleep**  
** Feel your hands inside my soul**  
** You're holding on and you won't let go.****"**  
– Michael Bolton, 'Steel Bars'.

* * *

Severus had disappeared shortly after that; he had said he was going for a walk to calm down, but he had quickly vanished from the Marauder's Map and hadn't returned for several hours. Judging by his expression, Hermione suspected that the 'walk' had almost certainly involved setting fire to things or making things explode until he felt less homicidal; she just hoped he hadn't destroyed anything he might want later on. Whatever outlet he had found, he seemed calm now, although he was in a very quiet mood and didn't appear to be inclined to talk. Commandeering his laptop, she put together a mostly instrumental playlist and left it playing softly to itself, settling down next to him to read until she felt him relax.

Later that night, protected by darkness, he began to talk a little – although she had to get him started. "Why didn't you go to see the portraits when you returned? It didn't occur to me that you would, but they seem... friendly."

"They are, in their way. Even Phineas, when you get used to him. And they supported me, at a time when I needed it." He sighed. "Truthfully, I didn't want to face Dumbledore again. Even after all these years, I don't know how I feel about him. I hate him," he added in a disturbingly matter of fact tone, "but it's more complicated than that."

"I can imagine," she said softly, rolling over to look at him but knowing better than to try and touch him yet. "I think a lot of us feel the same way about him – on the one hand, he's the kind old wizard with twinkly eyes who always seemed to have our best interests at heart, and on the other he manipulated us all and knowingly condoned terrible things. He had to, but he didn't have to lie about it. And somehow I doubt he treated you as nicely as he did us."

"No. He didn't." Severus sighed, closing his eyes. "He treated me with utter indifference. Oh, he smiled and twinkled the way he did to everyone, but he never played the paternal father figure – no, that's not true. He did at the beginning, in my first year. When he realised that it wasn't working, that I was still going to end up in his office almost every week, he gave up – very quickly. All I ever saw from him then was insincere smiles and that horrible disappointment that always makes you feel ashamed, even when you haven't actually done anything wrong."

"I know what you mean."

"Dumbledore didn't know what he was doing to me then. He learned his lesson from me and took care not to repeat it with Potter; I taught him to make himself a substitute for what an abused boy might lack in his life. Back when I was a boy, he didn't know how to pretend to care. And it sent me to the darkness. Oh, there were many reasons why I made the choices I made, but the day I first decided to join the Dark Lord was when I was sixteen and it was largely because of Dumbledore that I chose."

"The Shack..."

"Yes. You grasp instantly what Dumbledore always singularly failed to realise. It was attempted murder, and there was barely a token gesture towards recognising any form of wrongdoing. He visited me in the infirmary..."

"You were hurt?"

"Not physically," he replied in a dead voice, "but I had never been so afraid in my life. I saw Lupin, transformed, before Potter dragged me back. I had nightmares about it until worse memories replaced it – for a time my Boggart was a werewolf. I was almost catatonic during the day and screamed myself hoarse at night. Anyway, Dumbledore visited me, and I foolishly assumed that he might be worried about me – but the very first thing he said to me was, 'Mr. Snape, I must ask you to swear that you will not allow anyone else to find out what happened.' He just wanted to make sure I wouldn't betray his precious Gryffindors." The hurt was clear in his voice, the bewildered boy of sixteen realising just how little his life really mattered to the people who were supposed to protect him. "That night I decided to join the Death Eaters when I left school."

She wanted to reach out to him then, but she could hear something in his voice that reminded her of last New Year; recalling the torrent of pain-filled words that had spilled from him then, she kept silent and just listened, knowing that he needed to talk.

"I reconsidered more than a few times; it wasn't something I decided lightly. But the Marauders realised that they would not be punished, that I was essentially fair game. Their harassment grew worse – the incident by the lake was just one step in an intense campaign that eventually drove me almost to the brink of suicide. No matter where I turned, nobody was interested. I tried Slughorn; he did nothing. I tried Poppy Pomfrey – she tried, but failed. I had already given up on Dumbledore completely; he had killed the last remnants of my faith in him. I never had any faith in McGonagall to begin with. I would have turned to Lily, but she would no longer speak to me, and she was already half Potter's anyway..."

He shifted restlessly. "You know what happened at the lake – most of it, at least. It continued for some while beyond that point, but I am sure you can imagine the details without my description. I lost the only true friend I had, and I am not exaggerating when I say that fully half the school were gathered around to laugh at me. I was half mad with fury and humiliation when they finally let me go, and I crawled off to cry like a much younger boy. I decided then that perhaps the Death Eaters could help me, it was something I had considered before, but it wasn't until the incident in the Shack the following year that I finally resolved to join them. Lily did not forgive me. My parents were dead. The bullying continued throughout my final year, but I no longer cared. All I wished for was to graduate and join the Death Eaters; partly for power, partly for revenge, but mostly to simply be part of something, to belong somewhere, so that someone might care when I died."

Hermione blotted her tears on her sleeve, forcing back sobs. She could picture the teenaged Severus battering himself to pieces against the bars of a prison not of his making, trying avenue after avenue before taking the only path that had been left open for him. It was frightening to realise how easily any of them could have been driven to the same choice. Had it not been for the troll incident, she would have had no friends amongst her peers, and could very easily have ended up bitter and alone. Harry had suffered a great deal and had come perilously close to the darkness; even though he would never have followed Voldemort, he could have become something terrible in his own right. Any of her friends could have been broken, but for circumstance.

Severus continued softly, his face hidden in the darkness, "In a way, that wish was granted. Both my masters used me and drove me to my death; but of the two of them, it was the Dark Lord who told me that he regretted it – the closest that either of them ever came to an apology, at least one that I believed. Dumbledore betrayed me. The Dark Lord... didn't. What you must understand is that, much of the time, he was not an unkind master. In his own way, he protected his people. We were rewarded when we pleased him, and he saw that we were cared for, and he helped us to gain revenge when doing so did not hinder his own plans, and only he was permitted to harm us. And he did not lie to us. We each knew to the precise degree what our individual value to him was, and he kept to that. When we were punished, he told us clearly what would happen and why, so that we understood. There was no ambiguity, and that is the clearest attraction of the darkness – the simplicity. In his service, there was only black and white. And in Dumbledore's service, there was nothing but shades of grey."

He moved, and she could see just enough to realise that he was touching his arm, tracing the Dark Mark. "Taking his brand was one of the happiest moments of my life," he said bitterly. "I didn't know what it meant then, of course. It felt like I belonged, like I mattered, like I was valued. It was all I had ever wanted. And for a while, that continued. It was the first time I ever felt anything akin to peace. Gradually, the tasks demanded of me grew darker, and I quickly realised that it was a test – how much was I willing to pay for what I had gained? What was it worth to me? I won't tell you how long it took me to reach the point where I found it difficult to decide that answer, but eventually I realised that I was in too deep and that this wasn't what I wanted after all. By then, of course, it was far, far too late."

He sighed. "I watched others make the same realisation and try to get away. I watched what happened to them. There was nowhere to run, no way of hiding. The only ways out I could see were death or the patronage of someone stronger – and that only meant Dumbledore. I decided I would rather die than crawl back to him, when it was partly he who had driven me to this. I remained where I was, but there was no joy any more. I still felt that sense of belonging, but I no longer wished to belong, not to that. The Dark Lord had begun to split his soul by then; he was growing less sane, less human. I was less willing to please, and was punished more often. My fine new life had lasted less than a year before that illusion shattered like the rest.

"I struggled on for almost another full year, being dragged in deeper every day and seeing no other choice. It might have been better to kill myself, but despite everything, I still wanted to live. In the autumn of my nineteenth year – it must have been shortly before you were born – I overheard the prophetic fragment that changed the course of history, but it was not until the following spring, before the boy was born, that I realised the depths of my mistake and fully saw what I had done. I cannot describe that moment of horror, and I am ashamed to admit my initial course of action; I threw myself into my duties with all the zeal I could muster, with one aim in mind – to rise high enough that the Dark Lord would be willing to spare her life as a reward for my service. It worked, up to a point – he told me he would spare her if possible, but I knew that wasn't good enough. Had he only had the sense to lie and promise me that he would – had he behaved as Dumbledore would have done – so much would have been different.

"I would not have taken the next step for my own sake, but I no longer cared what happened to me. I went back to Dumbledore. I grovelled at his feet, where once I had dreamed of making _him_ grovel to _me. _I abased myself and begged, and I bargained away my life, what remained of it. And I endured his contempt – for make no mistake, he despised me. His every word, every glance proclaimed that he had been right about me all along. It was no more than I deserved.

"I did not expect his terms. I thought he would be willing to save his golden Gryffindors unconditionally; I did not think he would strike bargains with their lives as he had mine. But I accepted what he asked, and even when I realised what that would actually mean I did not turn away. We planned every step; he helped me hone my already extensive Occlumency skills, and I recall the giddy feeling of power the first time I told the Dark Lord a bare-faced lie and escaped undetected. That lasted until the first time I was punished by my first master for obeying the orders of my second. I received no sympathy from Dumbledore; he would not even offer physical aid when I could no longer stand. I made my report lying in the dirt, shaking and bleeding, and afterwards he looked down at me and said, 'You chose this. Remember your reasons for doing so,' and he walked away and left me there. I remember laughing and crying at the same time, sprawled in my own blood and choking on the irony of what had happened to all my fine hopes and dreams."

Severus fell silent for a little while; Hermione wasn't crying any more, too numbed by what she was hearing. He took a breath, held it for a moment, and let it out, before he started speaking again. His voice had grown very quiet.

"Potter was born in July of that year. Dumbledore made a point of telling me about the boy whenever I reported to him; partly to spur me on, but partly to torment me. You would not have recognised his actions towards me as belonging to Albus Dumbledore; he could, when he chose, be extremely petty, and from the moment I entered his service and forsook the Dark Lord until that Halloween he made me pay for it. He made no secret of his dislike for me.

"On Halloween I learned that the Potters had been betrayed, that the Dark Lord knew where they were. I fled to Dumbledore the instant I could; I had begun teaching at Hogwarts by that time. His response was to seal me in his office before leaving, where I spent the next several hours with only the portraits and Fawkes for company. You can imagine what that did for my state of mind. And then... he fell."

He shivered slightly, but gave no other reaction as he continued speaking. "I don't remember the rest of that night very clearly. I remember lying in my own vomit, clawing at my arm, biting at it like a rat in a trap. I remember when the pain finally wore off enough to allow me to function once more, Dumbledore had returned. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know, and I broke down completely. He said nothing, just waited for me to drag myself back to the real world; then he told me the facts. James and Lily were both dead. The boy had survived and had been left with Lily's sister. The Curse had rebounded and destroyed the Dark Lord's physical body, but that wasn't the end. One day he would return. A spy would be needed."

Hermione wished she could see his face; his tone of voice told her nothing. "He never openly asked me to continue to serve, or asked me to swear to him, or... anything, really. His expression and his tone said it all; he didn't believe I would. He thought I would do what any self-respecting Slytherin ought to do and abandon ship, take advantage of the fact that he had failed to uphold his side of the bargain and use it as an excuse to get the hell out. I was... utterly broken, by then. Beyond exhausted, barely able to understand what had happened, knowing I had lost everything. And... tired. I was so tired of never being able to prove myself, of nothing I did ever being good enough, of everything I touched falling apart. I wanted to believe that I wasn't the scum everyone thought I was... that there was something in me that was more than just _Snivellus._" As he repeated the hated nickname, his voice cracked slightly, but he kept speaking in the same emotionless tone.

"So I looked up from where I was lying on the floor. I somehow managed to stand up; even to this day, I don't know how. I stood up, and I looked Dumbledore in the face, and I told him that I would do it, on the condition that he never told anyone else. I will never forget the shock on his face. I have never before or since seen him so off balance; I couldn't have shocked him more if I'd kissed him. He had never believed I had it in me; nobody did." He sighed. "I remember the portraits, then. They had ignored me until that moment, as far as I can recall, but then... they applauded. And I remember Fawkes singing. Then I passed out."

After a long moment of silence he seemed to remember what the original topic of conversation had been, and his voice became a shade brisker. "I was twenty one, and he had known me for ten years, but it was only after that moment that Dumbledore seemed to believe that there was anything of value in me. It took me a long time to prove myself. I believe he only truly trusted me after the first time I saved Potter's life, and I do not believe he trusted me completely until, when the Mark began to darken once more, I went to him instead of trying to run. I do not believe he would have trusted me had there been anyone else who could do what I had to do. He had learned – somewhat – from his treatment of me when I was a boy, and he tried to become a father figure, but it was far too late by then. And he was too set in his ways; he couldn't stop trying to manipulate me, as he did all of you.

"He played us all like piano keys, and I stood highest in his councils because I could not take the moral high ground against him. He could still feel superior to me, so he made less of an effort to conceal what he was doing. I stood and watched as everything I had worked for was sacrificed. You saw the memories of that final conversation when I realised that he had done it again, betrayed me a final time and sent Potter to his death. To realise that all I had managed to achieve was to buy time; that I had never been able to save him because he was always supposed to die... Had events not been moving so swiftly to their conclusion, I would have killed myself then, rather than face what I had helped to create. But then... it was always my fate to die, too.

"That is why my relationship with Albus Dumbledore is so complicated, and why I could not face him again. He was utterly cold when he had to be, he was as riddled with guilt as the rest of us and pretended he was better, he was a scheming old hypocrite who would have tied Machiavelli in a knot, he ruthlessly sacrificed us all and he asked far more of me than I had to give... but he was all I had. And he did what had to be done. I hate him, but there was very little that he could have done differently. He was what he had to be, as we all were. _Dura necessitas; _necessity is harsh_._"

Severus fell silent at last, and only then did Hermione reach out and touch him. She felt wetness on her fingers when she touched his face, and she realised that he was crying, and probably had been for some time; nothing had shown in his voice or his breathing to show it, and in fact he started when she touched him and seemed surprised to realise that he was weeping. He raised a hand to his own cheek in some bewilderment, and she wanted to cry with him, but something held her back.

Very gently, she kissed him on the lips, tasting the sweet-salt of his tears. "Thank you for telling me," she said quietly, tenderly smoothing his hair back from his face. "You were – still are – incredibly brave. I don't know how you survived; but I am very thankful that you did." Sitting up, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, gently but firmly drawing him into her embrace; he resisted for a few stubborn moments before something gave way in him. He sobbed, just once, a harsh, dry sound, before closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Hermione."

"Then sleep, Severus," she said softly, kissing the top of his head gently as he had so often done to her. "Just go to sleep. It's all right; I've got you. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" She heard the abandoned child he had once been in his voice.

"I promise."

* * *

Neither of them mentioned that night again. She watched him in the days that followed, gradually relaxing and becoming less tense and wary; he had revealed his weakness and his vulnerability, and it took time for him to realise that the world hadn't ended as a result, that nothing bad had happened, that it was all right. For her part, Hermione wasn't sure what to think; it hurt, physically, to think about how he had suffered. She would never betray his confidence; nobody else needed to know what he had told her.

More than that... when he had finally fallen asleep, she had stayed awake for most of the night, holding him and thinking, and it hadn't taken her very long at all to realise that somewhere along the way she appeared to have fallen in love with him. That wasn't supposed to happen. It had been a friendship based on mutual need, and had developed into mutual passion; that had been fine. It had been _safe. _Love was a very long way from safe, especially with someone so broken.

But she could still remember the taste of his tears when she kissed him, and his fragile trust in her was incredibly precious. He was so unbelievably strong. Her hasty words to Minerva had been right; he was a hero, and without him they would all be dead. He was fierce and clever, powerful and loyal, obstinate and brave, and she didn't want to imagine any sort of life that didn't have him in it – sarcasm, bitterness and all.

She didn't know what he felt for her. He was the least demonstrative man she had ever known. The trick with Severus was to watch what he did, and ignore anything he might say while he did it; the maxim that actions spoke louder than words might have been written for him. He confided in her, told her things he had told nobody else; he had allowed her into his life, even asking – albeit indirectly – for her to move in with him; he had publicly acknowledged her aid; he showed startling moments of thoughtfulness and understanding; and even at his worst and most insulting, he had never made her feel _less _than she was.

He could be cruel at times, and his temper made him unpleasant, and his humour could sometimes cut, but even at his worst there was a sense that he expected her to take it and come back just as strongly, that he felt her strong enough to cope with it; he didn't belittle her. When she was truly vulnerable, he was as compassionate and gentle as she could possibly wish; when she was only indulging herself in moodiness, he bullied and teased and infuriated her until she was back to her usual self. He always seemed to know what she needed from him, and most of the time he provided it. Of course he wasn't perfect, nobody was; but he was what she wanted.

_Well, I never claimed to be conventional, _she told herself wryly.

* * *

She wasn't stupid enough to tell anyone else about this revelation; or indeed anything else she had learned that night. The only one she could confide in was Luna, and it didn't feel right to share something so personal. And she knew for certain that if she told Severus that she loved him, he would not react well, and it would be the end of everything between them – even if by some miracle he felt the same way about her. His emotional and psychological scars made sure of that.

It didn't really matter at the moment, in any case. The roughest time of the year had passed, and after thinking carefully she decided she could probably relax on that score until the summer. They could both let the memories go for a while and concentrate on the present, which often required a lot of concentration – such as the following weekend, when Severus returned from some mysterious foray into the grounds. His appearance made her blink.

"Severus, what on earth have you been doing? You're covered in mud."

"Hardly covered," he corrected her pedantically, discarding his boots by the door and padding through to the bathroom to wash his hands. "I was working in my greenhouse."

"You have your own greenhouse?" she asked, following him to the doorway.

"Naturally. Did you imagine I would allow anyone else to grow Potions ingredients? Especially one with Longbottom's disastrous history?" he replied with a sneer.

Hermione blinked; that sneer looked genuine, rather than automatic. "You really don't like Neville, do you?"

"I do not. Why does that seem to be a surprise?"

"Well, you pretend to hate all your students. It's just an act with most of them, and Neville's never done anything to you. So... why?"

"His family are originally from Yorkshire and I was born in Lancashire," he replied flippantly. "We are required to hate one another."

"Severus."

He glanced at her briefly in the mirror as his attempt at humour died before he returned his attention to cleaning earth from under his fingernails, not answering. Frowning, she thought about it. Neville could have been chosen by Voldemort as a target, rather than Harry, but even Severus wasn't twisted enough to blame either boy for that. Neville really had never done anything to earn his dislike, apart from being admittedly hopeless at Potions, and she doubted Severus cared about that after so many years of teaching. Neville had worked against him during that final year, but if anything she rather thought Severus had been oddly impressed by that. In fact, the only possible source of personal dislike she could think of was... "His Boggart?" she asked incredulously, and saw his shoulders tense. "Really, Severus, you can't blame him for that! He was terrified of you."

"If someone with Longbottom's history couldn't think of anything worse than an unpleasant and overly strict teacher to be afraid of, that is his problem and his deficiency," he replied shortly. "I do not particularly care what he fears."

She recognised his expression; it suggested that he knew it was irrational of him to blame Neville for whatever the problem was, but was doing so anyway. That meant it would be something complicated. "I give up."

He sighed, leaning over the sink and hunching his shoulders. "If you had had to endure the action replay of that Defence lesson over and over again in the staff room every night for three weeks straight, you would hate all those involved as well," he said curtly. "Lupin jumped at the chance to play Marauder again. I had almost managed to forget what it felt like to be publicly humiliated. Your classmates spread the tale around the whole school; I had not endured such disrespect since I first started teaching. You no doubt heard about the sodding Christmas cracker, just so Dumbledore could make absolutely sure that I couldn't forget about it. And as for the rest of the staff... some of my colleagues laughed so hard that they were in tears. I couldn't even leave the room without being accused of sulking. There were also a number of jokes made about my sexual orientation, which given my history I found less than amusing; since nobody else knew about that, it simply resulted in homophobia being added to my extensive list of perceived flaws. In case you were wondering, _that _was why I assigned you the essay on werewolves. And yes, I am fully aware that it was vindictive and spiteful of me to do so."

Put in that light, she could see his point of view. Lupin had deliberately encouraged their class to disrespect and mock another teacher, which was unprofessional at the very least and given their personal history was also rather petty. On learning Neville's Boggart, he should have chosen someone else for the demonstration. And he shouldn't have told the other staff members what had happened; they shouldn't have laughed at it either, at least not in front of Severus. They couldn't have known that jokes about his sexuality would strike so close to home, but that really wasn't the point.

"I can certainly understand why you'd hate Professor Lupin for that," she replied after a few minutes' thought, "but it's not really fair to blame Neville for it. He didn't know what Remus would do; he was just obeying a teacher."

"I did not say my dislike of him was fair."

"Well, at least you admit it." Watching his back, she added quietly, "Neville always thought it was personal, you know. He still does."

"He has no understanding. Some things never change." The insult lacked its usual venom. Turning away from the sink, he dried his hands. "He hates me," he remarked almost conversationally, "for very good reasons I might add. I caused him a great deal of both physical and emotional pain. In the face of that, my irrational grudge is scarcely a drop beside the ocean. We will never be more than passably civil to one another."

"I'm not so sure," Hermione said slowly. "Neville's not the type to hold grudges; I don't believe he hates you. He's still scared of you," she added wryly, "but more out of habit than anything else."

Severus shrugged indifferently and walked past her into the bedroom to remove his mud-streaked robe. The cloth was wet; it had started snowing outside. Seizing the moment, she asked one of the many questions that had been nagging at her since he had told her so much of his history a few nights ago. "Severus?"

"I know that tone," he said resignedly, sitting on the bed. "What do you wish to ask now?"

Biting back a smile, she sat next to him. "What's your Boggart? I know it used to be a werewolf. Mine used to be failure," she admitted before he could react to the reference to that night, "but obviously once the war took hold that became rather less important. I'm not sure what it is now."

He was silent for a while, but she could read the sound of his silences pretty well now, and this particular one meant that he would answer her eventually, although she probably wouldn't like the answer. "Mostly, it was the Dark Lord, as you might expect," he said finally. "Occasionally it changed. Now, I have no idea what it would be, but the last time I was aware of its form... my Boggart was the same thing I saw when I looked in the Mirror of Erised. Oh, yes, I looked," he added in response to her surprise. "It's still somewhere in the castle, you know. I last saw it in the last year of the war."

"And... what did you see?" she whispered, certain that she wasn't going to want to hear the answer.

"Nothing," he replied quietly. "I saw nothing."

Looking at him gave her no clues; his expression was blank. Frowning, she absently wound a curl of hair around her finger, thinking it through. He saw nothing in the Mirror of Erised. It was easy to believe that meant he didn't want anything – well, easy if you didn't know Severus, anyway – but the mirror didn't work that way. Dumbledore had told Harry, '_The happiest man in the world would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is.' _Severus had seen nothing, not even his own reflection. The only possible conclusion to draw was that he had wished not to exist. Why had his Boggart been the same thing? He wanted oblivion, but feared it at the same time...

Finally she asked very slowly, "Severus... Are you a particularly religious man?"

His expression confirmed that she was right. "Not in the common sense of the word. I do not believe in a particular god or gods. But you are correct – I fear the afterlife. All that I have done will have consequences. Disregarding Dumbledore's prattle and meaningless platitudes, my soul has been damaged – not split, or at least I do not think so, but badly torn – and there will be a price to pay."

"You've already paid far more than any man should ever have to," she replied without thinking. "Nobody could demand more of you."

"I don't think it works that way."

"Well, it should."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Add it to your list of things to change. Overthrowing natural law should not prove too taxing for you."

"Compared to living with you, it will be a minor diversion at most," she agreed, smiling fondly at him as he mock-scowled in reply. "Harry's Boggart was a Dementor," she added reflectively.

Severus snorted. "I know. Lupin prattled on about that, about the boy fearing only fear itself. Only a fool would think that wisdom. Fear is a friend; it improves blood flow, supplies the brain with adrenaline and increases the supply of oxygen to the muscles. It sharpens the reflexes and aids survival. It is also an indication of common sense, something which Potter conspicuously lacked," he added sarcastically. "Dementors cannot harm you by their mere presence, providing that they do not try to perform the Kiss, unless you allow them to by permitting your worst memories to become weapons."

"And how do you stop them?"

"By knowing what your worst memories are, enduring them and acknowledging them, thus blunting their edges."

"Does Occlumency protect you against Dementors?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"Yes. Otherwise, with my memories, I would never have survived the week I spent in Azkaban awaiting trial after the first war. As an Occlumens I could protect my few pleasant memories from them and prevent my myriad _un_pleasant ones from harming me. Prolonged exposure would still drive me to depression and madness, but not for many years, and they would have nothing to feed on. I doubt even my soul would do them much good," he added with a gallows grin. "In fact, it would probably poison them, if they didn't starve trying to find it."

"That's not funny, Severus," she rebuked him.

"I have frequently been told that I don't have a sense of humour."

"No, you do. It's just very twisted."

"Much like myself, then."

"Oh, hush," she ordered him, trying not to smile. "What else does Occlumency help with? Didn't you tell Harry once that it was similar to resisting the Imperius curse?"

"For all the good it did him, yes," he replied sourly. "The Imperius curse doesn't work on me, although I was seldom exposed to it in any case. I am also immune to Veritaserum and other compulsion and truth potions," he added with a faintly amused smile, "something the Ministry failed to realise."

"Useful," Hermione told him in her most deadpan voice. "When did you learn Occlumency?"

"After the incident in the Shack, Dumbledore threatened to Obliviate me unless I swore to tell no one of what had happened – oh, not in so many words, but his meaning was plain. The idea scared me; I knew about memory charms, of course, but I had not hitherto considered the concept – the violation – of someone altering my memories, my thoughts. I began researching mental protection techniques and discovered Occlumency; I was naturally gifted – my upbringing left me with such a powerful desire to hide my thoughts and emotions from everyone that I was physically unable to lower my instinctive shields. When I became Dumbledore's spy, he continued to teach me to master it. He didn't have to teach me much about how to hide things; rather, most of the battle was teaching me how to show certain things and how to make it less obvious that I was hiding. Over the years, I developed my skills further and adapted Occlumency to other uses."

"Why did Harry have such trouble with Occlumency? He was always good at fighting the Imperius."

"He is blocked, psychologically," he explained calmly, "because I was the one who told him. Had Dumbledore listened to my advice and given the boy a book to study beforehand, he might have been successful. But all his knowledge of Occlumency came from me, and he does not – cannot – trust me, so he never entirely managed to master it."

"Surely Albus knew that would happen?"

"Of course he did," Severus replied wearily. "I believe part of him wanted to maintain the connection between the boy and the Dark Lord in case it proved useful. I have never been certain how much of what happened was planned all along, but from Dumbledore's point of view it all worked out very neatly. The Dark Lord was prevented from hearing the prophecy, Black's growing instability and unpredictability ceased to be a problem as did his influence on Potter, Potter learned not to disobey and returned to relying completely upon Dumbledore. What matter if a few children were hurt? What matter if I was once again placed in an impossible position?"

He sighed. "I roused the Order, those I could reach, as soon as I could, but I could do nothing else. And I should have been present, but you cannot fight for both sides in a battle. The Dark Lord accepted this, indeed he was the one who ordered me to remain behind, but he was nonetheless furious and I was excessively punished, as indeed we all were." He shrugged, and remarked in a different tone, "I believe you were one of the casualties?"

"Yes," she replied slowly, knowing he meant the scar on her chest.

"I recognise the hex, of course," he said a little bitterly. "At least it wasn't one of mine. Who did it?"

"Dolohov," she admitted, and he blinked.

"Really. Interesting; his aim was always terrible. I assume he must have meant to hit someone else." His voice was wry, but his eyes were cold. "None of you should have been there. Damn him and his games."

"Did he really see Sirius' death as an advantage?" she asked faintly.

"Yes. Black was a danger to us all. His little trips outside were fun for him, but the risk of betraying the Order was unbelievable. Lucius Malfoy saw him, if you remember. If someone had managed to follow him... or if someone from the Ministry had learned where he was... He could have cost us everything. He was reckless and impulsive, two disastrous traits in a soldier. And he had too much influence over Potter, distracting him. One way or another, he had to be removed."

"How..."

"Try not to think about it," he advised heavily. "Better not to know. Certainly I never asked."

Hermione considered this for a while. "How much of everything was planned?" she asked finally, not sure she wanted to know.

"I have never been sure," he replied almost sadly. "More than either of us might wish, I suspect."

"I suppose I wondered right from the start," she mused. "I know how powerful the staff members are, especially you, Minerva and Filius – and Albus himself – but the defences around the Philosopher's Stone were weak enough for three first years to overcome."

"Yes," he agreed harshly. "Any of us could singly have cast wards that would have prevented anyone getting through – or the Stone could have merely been left in Gringotts; you've seen their security. Even though that vault was later broken in to, had there still been anything there to protect it would not have happened. It was a test of Potter's abilities, mostly – Dumbledore didn't count on yourself or Weasley. He believed that the attempt to take the Stone would be unsuccessful purely because my Dark Mark did not react; he trusted that it meant the Dark Lord would not return yet, and he gambled your lives and potentially everyone else's on that."

"Did you know that at the time?"

"No. None of us did. None of the staff would have stood for it. I worked it out afterwards." He lay back and supported himself on one elbow, turning to face her. "I do not believe any of the Chamber of Secrets business was known to him; he was as much in the dark as any of us." He smiled mirthlessly. "At one point I believe he thought I might be the Heir of Slytherin, actually."

"What?" she exclaimed, staring at him. "Why? Even Harry never thought of you."

He snorted. "I don't know. Perhaps he had a senior moment; in truth, nobody could accept that the Head of Slytherin had no idea who the Heir was, or where the Chamber was. In any case, it didn't last long. But what happened shook him badly; he could never bear not to be in control. I believe that was when he began his research into Tom Riddle's past. And I do not believe he knew much of what happened in your third year, not until it was almost over. I'm not certain, mind, but I think his actions then were simply his taking advantage of the situation. I don't believe it was planned in advance, simply because he did not gain much from it; had he planned it, he would have done." The look in his eyes was bitter; that night and what followed had truly hurt him in a number of ways.

"What about... about the Triwizard Tournament?" she made herself ask, shivering.

Severus' expression was almost pained. "I do not know, truly. He knew the Dark Lord would return this time; the Mark was evidence enough and more. To this day I do not understand why he allowed the final trial to go ahead. We did not _know_ that anything would happen, but it was certainly not out of the question, and the situation was impossible to control. Potter was alone and vulnerable inside that stupid maze even with us patrolling the outskirts. A Portkey did not occur to any of us, and nor did treachery – I hated and despised Moody, and feared him if I am honest, but I never suspected he might not be the genuine article – but there were plenty of other ways of getting at the boy."

"Where were you?"

"I was with Dumbledore at the far edge of the maze. He wanted me with him; the canary down the coal mine," he said morosely. "I realised that something was happening, and then we discovered that Potter was no longer on the grounds. He kept me with him and would not reveal that anything was wrong, but I remember him gripping my arm hard enough to bruise and he was constantly asking me whether anything had changed. I collapsed when I sensed the Dark Lord's return," he added briskly. "Partly because it simply hurt that much, and partly because of everything it would mean. Feeling the pain of a Summons again, after so long that I had begun to hope that I might be free... Well. Everything happened fairly quickly after that."

"And you went to him, after it was all over," Hermione said slowly. She hadn't been there, but she had seen Harry's memory, and recalled the strange expression on Severus' face when he had left on Dumbledore's instructions. There were no words she knew that could have described it. "He – Dumbledore, I mean – didn't actually ask you, did he?" she said wonderingly.

He shook his head. "No. It was for the best. I do not believe I could have done it if I had felt that I was doing it for him, rather than for me."

"I don't know how you had the courage. I mean, I know how brave you are, but..."

"I don't know either," he said heavily. "I have never been more afraid than on the walk down to the gates before I Apparated to his side."

"What happened?" Hermione asked very softly, moving closer to him.

"I do not recall everything. I explained, during the brief periods when I was permitted to speak and still capable of speech, that because I had delayed Dumbledore trusted me and believed me still on his side, a willing spy, when instead I could once again be the Dark Lord's spy inside Hogwarts and privy to many of the Order's plans. I had prepared extensively; when he broke into my mind, he saw only what I wished him to see. It convinced him, but I was still punished."

"Did Dumbledore care?" she asked baldly.

"How cynical you have become," he sighed. "He did, a little, but it was not a priority. His first reaction on seeing me was relief and exultation that it had worked; only after he had heard my report did he allow me to leave and tend my injuries. But that was not out of malice, not by then. He was concerned for me, but no commander in a war can afford to allow themselves sentiment. He could not allow his concern or my fear to prevent me from doing my job. Neither of us expected me to survive as long as I did; his first priority was to get as much from me as he could before I was discovered. I do not blame him for that. It was necessary."

"I suppose so," she said in a small voice.

"And now you are upset." He reached out and touched her cheek gently. "Don't be. I made my choices of my own free will, and I faced the consequences. And in the end, perhaps things did not work out so very badly." Severus raised his head and looked thoughtfully around the room, before his black eyes focused on her once more. "No; I believe that on the whole, this was perhaps the very best possible outcome." Leaning closer, he kissed her gently.

* * *

_I just want to say here that I appreciate my anonymous reviewers too. I can't respond, but I am grateful. Things are moving on nicely, aren't they?__  
_


	19. Chapter 19

_Let's see if this Christmas is going to be better than the last... it's certainly more eventful. Especially as our hero had rather a good idea a few chapters ago..__.  


* * *

_

**"****So lift your eyes if you feel you can **  
** Reach for a star and I'll show you a plan **  
** I figured it out **  
** What I needed was someone to show me****.****"**  
– Air Supply, 'Lost In Love'.

* * *

The first weekend in December was the cue for all the staff to assist with decorating the castle for Christmas; this had always been Hermione's favourite staff duty. Severus had managed to avoid it last year, but Minerva had put her foot down – apparently still annoyed that the portraits had intervened on his behalf in the staff room – and he had surrendered with bad grace. Hermione watched him now; he was supposedly helping Flitwick move another tree into position, but he kept surreptitiously flicking his wand at the tree that Minerva was decorating, either knocking ornaments off or changing their colour. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him until he sensed it and looked up, then gave him a look of rebuke. He raised an eyebrow and looked as if he had no idea what she meant – _a bit of a stretch to call him 'innocent', _she thought wryly – but reluctantly stopped what he was doing.

In theory, the decorations were supposed to be neutral, an even blend of all the house colours plus anything else that looked aesthetically pleasing, but it wasn't difficult to see that there was more red and gold than there should have been, and very little silver; and the only green came from the Christmas trees and holly. Once Hermione noticed that, she started imitating Severus and changing the colours of some of the baubles. That earned her the only softening of his scowl that she had seen all day, which from him was the equivalent of a broad smile from anyone else.

She wasn't sure how Severus viewed Christmas. Rather than decorating Slytherin Tower himself as the other Heads of House did for their houses, he let the students do it themselves. He liked some Christmas music, but not much – when she had somewhat sheepishly produced her collection of CDs, he had promptly taken them all off her and compiled a playlist on his computer of the few tracks he deemed acceptable. He liked most carols, oddly, but seemed indifferent to many of the classic pop songs and openly disliked some of them. He hadn't decorated his rooms last year that she recalled, but she hadn't really seen much of him then. He hadn't had a happy childhood, which probably explained a lot; Harry had seemed almost surprised every year to find that it _was _Christmas. No doubt Severus tended to ignore Christmas completely in much the same way.

And she had no idea what to get him for Christmas. Everyone else had been easy, as they always were – in fact, she recalled guiltily, the difficult part had been focusing on each person long enough to get them anything, since she had mostly been thinking of other things. She had chosen Severus' birthday present surprisingly easily, but she was saving that for his birthday because he would be fifty this year and it was important, and because he seemed to view birthdays as making more sense than Christmas, in an odd way. She wasn't really expecting anything from him, but no doubt he would feel obligated to find something – which might make him even more determined not to. Even after all this time, he was still very difficult to figure out.

Part of the problem, she suspected, was that she tended to buy things for him all the time anyway, if she happened to notice that he needed something or if she saw something she knew he would like. Not long after the start of term she had noticed that he was almost out of aftershave and had bought him a bottle of Old Spice, purely because she liked the smell of it; he hadn't commented, but the next time he had run out he'd bought another bottle. And any time she went into a bookshop, she generally picked up books that she knew they would both enjoy reading. He did the same thing for her, sometimes. It meant that there wasn't anything he particularly needed, and as far as she knew nothing he wanted – he wasn't the material sort, really. It would be easy enough to get him something he'd like, but Hermione had always been brought up to believe that presents for special occasions should be more meaningful than that. It made life difficult, sometimes.

It was a long day, and she was relieved to finally escape back to the peace and quiet of the dungeons, relaxing gratefully in front of the fire and absently stroking Crookshanks as he claimed her lap. Severus stalked in a few minutes afterwards, scowling, and she smiled lazily at him. "I assume that expression means we won't be decorating in here tonight?" she asked teasingly.

"Or any other night," he growled.

"Ah. I wondered if you would or not." It would be a shame not to mark the holiday in some fashion, but she wasn't _that _bothered. He gave her a sharp glance and she smiled, patting the sofa next to her. "Come here." He did as she asked, and once he was settled next to her she shifted close, careful of the purring cat. "You shouldn't scowl so much," she murmured, reaching out to gently trace the furrow between his eyebrows with a fingertip. "You'll get wrinkles."

He snorted softly. "As if my appearance could grow less attractive."

"Don't talk nonsense," Hermione replied absently, her finger sliding from his brows down the arched bridge of his nose. "I never realised until I met you again just how much of your appearance was a mask," she added, tracing the line between nose and mouth. "Why?"

"At first, poverty and neglect," he answered simply, lightly kissing her fingertip as she outlined his lips. "I was not particularly well cared for as a child, and we had very little money. Once I was at Hogwarts, there was some improvement – my uniform was kept clean and mended and I could keep myself clean and well fed – but it was largely too little, too late; and my teeth were always crooked – partly because they grew in crookedly, and partly due to being hit in the mouth on a semi-regular basis. Then I entered adolescence, which effectively destroyed my skin and hair. By the time that finally cleared up, in my late teens, I had realised that it was... useful, in a way. People looked at me and saw the 'greasy git', which meant they usually missed whatever I was really up to and often underestimated me. Besides, I was universally unpopular and saw no reason to pay attention to my looks; too much effort for too little gain." He suckled teasingly on her finger until she drew it away from his mouth.

"When I was teaching," he continued, "it was much the same. I simply couldn't be bothered, and it became a part of the mask I had assumed. It discouraged anyone from looking more closely; it formed a barrier between myself and the rest of the world. I had no reason to care about my looks anyway, and you yourself know what spending all day in a damp room full of steaming cauldrons does for the hair, even without constant stress," he added dryly.

"I suppose that makes sense. It's a shame, though." He snorted again and slid an arm around her shoulders, and she settled against him comfortably. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to ask you something..." she said hesitantly, and felt him sigh.

"Imagine my surprise. Go on, then."

"Well..." She wasn't sure how he was going to take it. Taking a deep breath, she spoke quickly before she could change her mind; she had wanted to ask for months now. "It's about Lily. I wondered... am I – anything like her? I mean..." She trailed off, herself not entirely sure _what _she had meant.

He made a faint sound in his throat, and when she twisted to look up at his face he looked honestly surprised by the question, which evidently hadn't been what he was expecting. It had come a little bit out of the blue, she had to admit. Frowning down at her, he blinked slowly and transferred his gaze to the fireplace, the flames reflecting in his eyes as he thought about it.

"In some ways, perhaps," he said finally, considering his words as he spoke. "Your kindness, your friendliness and compassion. Your intelligence, I suppose, although you are smarter, more academically minded and more focused than she was. But mostly, no, you are nothing like her. She was brave and loyal, as you are, but in a less aggressive way; you are more openly courageous and she was... not as strong as you are. She was also more nurturing, in the domestic sense of the word, much like Molly Weasley is, and could be rather shallow. And she certainly didn't have your temper," he added with a hint of a smile, before sighing. "At the same time, she was less forgiving, less open-minded. Less... driven, yet in some ways more certain and more – confident. Truthfully, I have never thought about it."

"Never?"

"No," he said firmly, his arm tightening around her shoulders as his body tensed momentarily. "I have never consciously compared you to her in any way."

"I didn't really mean that. At least, I don't think I did," Hermione added honestly. "I just... wondered. She was an important part of your life for a long time."

"My _old _life," he said with quiet emphasis, and she smiled at him.

"Relax, Severus. I'm not being insecure, I promise. Only curious."

"Now _that, _I can believe. It's no wonder your familiar is a cat."

Crookshanks opened one eye and regarded him coolly, his tail twitching. "Careful," Hermione warned, smiling. "You've offended him."

"No, I haven't," he replied dryly with a half-smile. "Nice try, furball." He absently reached out to rub behind one pointed ginger ear, and after a moment the half-Kneazle grudgingly surrendered and started purring. "He knows when he's onto a good thing."

"He's not the only one," Hermione murmured mischievously, and was rewarded with an absolutely wicked smile.

"Hmm. Will you purr if I find the right spot?" he asked teasingly.

"You're more than welcome to try."

* * *

After diligent and thorough investigation, Severus had been forced to conclude that no, she didn't purr; but he had drawn enough other noises from her that she might have been embarrassed had she been able to think straight. Sleepily satisfied, she lay in the circle of his arms, listening to his breathing slow. Sighing contentedly, Hermione stretched lazily and relaxed once more, resting her head on his chest. "You have class in a few hours, you know. You shouldn't teach when you're tired."

He chuckled sleepily and kissed her hair. "I shouldn't teach when I'm tired out from _this,_" he agreed drowsily. "It almost – only almost, mind – puts me in a good mood. The students don't know what to make of it."

"I don't blame them," she teased. "I can't actually imagine you in a good mood. It must be terrifying for them."

"Don't be nasty. It's your fault, after all."

"I shall have to think of some way to make amends."

"I knew you were trying to kill me."

"We've established that the Imperius curse doesn't work on you," she replied through a yawn. "You're not exactly putting up much of a fight." He didn't answer, and she smiled, snuggling closer before asking plaintively, "You're really not going to decorate your rooms for Christmas?"

"You do recall that it was your thirtieth birthday in September, and not your thirteenth?" he asked sarcastically, before sighing elaborately in the manner of all put-upon males everywhere and disentangling himself from her and their rumpled bedding, reaching under the pillows for his wand before he sat up. Drawing away, Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and watched curiously as he began a series of complicated wand movements that she didn't recognise.

There seemed no noticeable effect at first, but after a moment the shadows in the corner of the bedroom grew darker and the fire grew brighter and warmer. The air too grew warmer and lost the edge of dampness that characterised the dungeons, and took on a faint but unmistakeable scent of pine resin, touched faintly with woodsmoke and something that reminded her of mulled wine. Hermione blinked rapidly, but the odd sparkle at the edge of vision didn't disperse; after a few moments she recognised it as the way fairy lights reflected off tinsel. Somehow Severus had managed to create all the atmosphere of Christmas without any of the physical trappings. It was probably the most subtle and complex charm she had ever seen.

All she could think of to say was, "I didn't think you were good at this kind of charm."

That sounded like a criticism, but his smirk showed that he hadn't taken it personally, as he put his wand away and settled back. "I'm not. It took me four or five years to develop this."

She started to grin. "You spent five years working on a Christmas-decoration charm?"

He scowled at her. "Amongst other things. I am not completely devoid of sentiment. I simply have more taste than most people."

Now fighting back laughter, she said, "Imagine the world's reaction if they found out that Severus Snape isn't a total bastard after all..."

"Nobody would believe you," he muttered sourly, and she started laughing in earnest despite herself. That probably wasn't a good idea – Severus was a lot more willing to laugh at himself these days, but he still didn't like it – but she couldn't help it. He looked so defensive she was fighting the urge to ruffle his hair.

"You can deny it all you want," she told him, smiling, "but I keep telling you, you're a very sweet man." _And I'm the only one who knows it, _she realised. It was an oddly possessive feeling, being the only one who got to see this side of him – the only one he trusted enough to show this side of him.

Leaning over, she kissed him; he was moody and sullen now and refused to respond, and she grinned at him, ignoring it and pushing him onto his back so she could curl up against him once more. He grudgingly surrendered and drew her closer, muttering something in which the word "insufferable" was clearly audible, and she smiled as she closed her eyes.

* * *

A couple of nights later she woke to a feeling of cold and realised that she was alone. Opening her eyes, she blinked fuzzily, picking out a moving shadow near the door. "Sev'rus?" she asked sleepily.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly.

"S'okay. Where are you going?"

"To speak with dead people."

Still half asleep, it took her a moment to process that. "Oh. The portraits."

"Yes. I had intended to let you sleep, but if you want to come along..."

"Please."

"Get dressed, then. It's cold."

Nodding, she slid out of bed, shivering as she located her clothes. "And this way if Minerva catches us, we can say I was there to give you the password, so she doesn't realise you don't need it," she observed as she did up her jeans.

"True," he replied, "but we won't need it. She's a heavy sleeper."

"I won't ask how you know that." That earned her a faintly revolted look, and she smothered a laugh. "Sorry."

"Are you ready yet?" he asked with exaggerated patience.

"Almost. I need to brush my hair."

"Your hair is fine."

"Severus, it's a rat's nest."

"It always is," he remarked cuttingly, but softened it by adding, "and I have no complaints. Now may we please go? I had not intended this to take all night. I do need _some _sleep."

"Then you shouldn't have kept us up so late," she muttered, following him through the deserted corridors.

"I didn't hear you arguing."

There wasn't much she could say to that, so she gave up and followed him swiftly to the Headmistress' office. He seemed a little tense, but the last time he had been here had been around ten years ago, when it had still been _his _office, so she could understand why. The gargoyle at the foot of the staircase raised its head and stared at them; it focused on Severus and instantly stepped to one side, bowing its head respectfully. "Headmaster," it croaked.

"Thank you," Severus replied in an undertone, nodding as they passed. His voice was clipped and formal, which usually meant he was ill at ease. She touched his back as they started up the stairs and felt the muscles rigid under her hand as he limped rapidly upwards. Outside the door, he hesitated, and she heard him swallow before he straightened and reached for the handle.

Unable to see past him, since he had stopped in the doorway, Hermione listened, and heard a faint murmur of sleepy voices before someone said clearly, "Severus?" There was a moment of absolute silence, before Severus took a step forward and she was able to get past him and close the door. When she looked around, every single portrait was on their feet at the edge of their frame. They bowed to him in silence. Then, one by one, they began to applaud.

As the clapping rose to a storm and many of the portraits began calling to him with messages of greeting and congratulations, Hermione watched his face. There was an obscure kind of pain in his eyes; she realised that this was the first vindication he had ever received, or even the first acknowledgement, because she hadn't known how to broach the subject and nobody else cared. In that moment she resolved to do whatever was necessary to make sure that the world recognised what he had done for them, no matter how long it took.

"It is very good to see you both," Dumbledore greeted them, the twinkle in his eyes more pronounced than ever.

"It's _interesting _to see you both," Phineas said snidely. "Is this why you were so defensive and protective of her, Severus?"

"No," Severus replied shortly. "I am simply less prejudiced than you."

"Which isn't difficult," Dilys interjected before Phineas could respond, smiling. "Albus is right; it's lovely to see you. And now that you are finally here, tell us everything."

Severus leaned on the windowsill, looking around the office with shadowed eyes; he seemed to be relaxing, a little. After a while he drew in a breath and began to talk, telling the story from the moment he had left Hogwarts on that fateful night. Hermione knew it all already and listened with half an ear, more interested in watching his face and in watching his audience as they gasped in the right places or looked horrified or saddened by what they were hearing. From the aftermath of the battle, Severus moved on to speaking of his travels; his quiet voice was the only sound in the darkened room now. Hermione saw silvery flickers at the edge of her vision and saw that the Hogwarts ghosts had gathered in the office to listen; even Peeves was there, looking oddly subdued and on his best behaviour.

By the time the story had reached its end, Severus was starting to sound hoarse, but he was calm and seemed untroubled by the silent spectators.

"And what role do you play in all this, my dear?" Dumbledore asked Hermione softly. He had looked on the verge of tears during the account of the battle, but there was no sign of it now. She looked up at his portrait, wanting to hate him because of what she had learned, but realising that she couldn't; the look in Severus' eyes said he understood that particular conflict only too well.

"I was the first one to learn that Severus was still alive," she replied, smiling despite herself at the memory. "I literally ran into him, in Waterloo Station. He made himself scarce as soon as possible, but once I knew he was alive I worked out where to look and eventually tracked him down."

"Whereupon she promptly made a nuisance of herself," Severus drawled silkily, "and proceeded to take over my life until she had browbeaten everyone into permitting me to return here." Hermione rolled her eyes, and spotted several portraits trying to hide smiles – evidently they knew Severus quite well and understood his moods. Phineas looked contemptuous, but Dilys was openly laughing, and Dumbledore had his hand in front of his face to hide his expression.

"And now?" Dumbledore asked, his voice almost teasing.

Both humans simply looked at him, and Dilys laughed even harder in the neighbouring portrait. "My dear girl, you're spending far too much time with Severus. You've even picked up his raised eyebrow, although you don't quite have his flair."

"You're all very bored indeed now that the war is over, aren't you," Hermione observed dryly, and heard Severus snort.

"You have no idea," Phineas agreed sardonically.

"I don't believe for a second that you care one way or the other about us," she challenged him.

"About you, certainly not," he replied coolly, "but Severus is only the second Headmaster from Slytherin, and likely to be the last for several centuries at least. Naturally I wish to follow his career. Although I could wish he had a little more taste..."

"Phineas." The one word was all Severus said, and he didn't even sound particularly threatening, but it silenced the former Headmaster instantly. _I wish I could do that, _Hermione thought irrelevantly.

"I'm delighted for you both," Dumbledore assured them earnestly. "Surprised, I have to say, but delighted. Now that I see you both after all this time... it makes sense."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Severus replied.

"Nor do I," Hermione added.

Dumbledore's eyes were _still _twinkling. "No, of course not; nonetheless, my congratulations to you both. You deserve to be happy more than anyone, Severus, after everything you have achieved and everything you have endured; and you too, Hermione. True happiness is all too rare these days."

"You've got your work cut out for you with this one, Miss Granger," Dilys added, smiling.

"I noticed," Hermione responded dryly, and smiled when Severus mock-scowled at her. The clock on the desk chimed softly, and she blinked. "It's five a.m. Severus, you have class in four hours."

"Time to go," he agreed. Turning, he scanned the portraits briefly, nodding to one or two of them.

"Good luck, both of you," Dumbledore said softly. "As always, Severus, you can rely upon our discretion. Can't he, Phineas?" he added pointedly.

"Of course," the portrait huffed indignantly. "I wouldn't betray a fellow Slytherin."

"Yes, you would, but this time you had better not," Dilys snapped at him, before smiling down at the two of them. "Don't wait so long before visiting again, boy. It's not the same without you around. And don't let him get away with too much, girl," she added to Hermione with a wink that was somewhat disturbing coming from a dead woman almost two centuries old.

Muttering something that was probably supposed to be a polite farewell, Severus turned towards the door and halted, blinking as he noticed the ghosts; apparently he hadn't seen them earlier. Silently, they bowed to him as the portraits had done earlier, before murmuring in unison, "Headmaster." Even Peeves, Hermione noticed. The poltergeist was fidgeting, but showed no signs of... well, normal behaviour, from him.

After a long moment Severus inclined his head formally in acknowledgement, and the ghosts drifted away through the wall. Staring after them, he shook himself and turned away, leaving swiftly. Hermione followed him down the stairs and found him standing staring at the wall; she went to him as the gargoyle slid back into place behind her. "Severus?"

"I'm all right," he answered roughly. "It's been a long night, that's all."

"True. Come on."

He shook his head. "I need a cigarette."

"All right. I'll go and get the fire going again; it'll be cold. Don't be too long."

* * *

He seemed composed when he rejoined her in the bedroom, damp from the snow and smelling faintly of smoke. "Better?" she asked carefully.

"More or less," he replied unhelpfully, shedding his outer clothing as she scooted over to let him slide into bed beside her.

"I was surprised to see the ghosts."

"I should have expected them. They, at least, were always on my side."

"Always?"

"Yes. The Baron was the first, when I was eleven. As the Slytherin ghost, he tends to find students who isolate themselves, and keeps an eye on them. His reports to me as Head of House let me help a number of students. As I found more hiding places around the castle, the other ghosts began to notice me." He smiled slightly. "The first time Peeves found me, he threw something at my head – I can't remember what it was – and I threw it back at him. Apparently nobody had done that before. It became... almost a game, in a strange way. Whenever he found the Marauders trying something, he always took my side – probably because that gave him more targets. Later, when I became a teacher, I continued to speak with the ghosts sometimes. They follow the Headmaster. Peeves in particular made himself useful in that last year – he stopped the Carrows' worst excesses all by himself. He hated them. All the ghosts did."

"It makes me feel better, knowing you had allies; even if they were dead. I like Dilys," she added, and saw him smile.

"She takes getting used to. Completely mad, of course. The older portraits often are." He broke off to yawn, and she smiled at him.

"You're teaching in just over three hours. Try and get some sleep."

He didn't reply, just turned his face into her hair as she curled up against him.

* * *

A few days later he surfaced from where he had spent the past couple of hours in his laboratory. "Hermione, I need to talk to you," he said without preamble, and she looked up from her book. She had known something was bothering him; he'd been very distracted recently.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No." He moved carefully over to sit opposite her; his knee ached a little on very cold days, apparently. "The holidays start tomorrow, and I will be going away for a few days on business. Personal business," he added when she opened her mouth to ask.

"Can I go with you?" she asked, a little bewildered by the rapid turn of events – this had come totally out of the blue.

"No. I intend to tell Slytherin that if there are any problems during my absence, they should come to you, if you are willing. I don't trust anyone else to look after them."

That rocked her. She had known him long enough to know that he was peculiarly devoted to his House; it was rare that there weren't at least two students a week showing up in his office wanting to speak to him about something. He never discussed specific students, even with her, but he had explained that most of the time it was fairly minor; the students simply wanted someone to talk to. They weren't yet used to anyone being on their side. "Severus, of course I will. But you're being very mysterious. Can't you tell me anything else?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want to give you the wrong idea. What I am attempting may not even be possible."

"It's about me in some way?" she guessed, now really confused.

He nodded reluctantly. "Please, Hermione, no more questions. I promise that it is nothing dangerous or illegal in any way. I promise to tell you all about it _if _I am successful. I promise to be away no longer than one week – it should only take a couple of days."

She considered for a moment before sighing and giving in. "All right. But I'm going to worry about you."

A hint of amusement showed in his eyes. "There is no need."

"I know. But I'm going to anyway."

"Well, if it makes you feel better."

* * *

She had absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing, which was both worrying and irritating. He was clearly up to something, but she didn't have the faintest notion of what it could be, and she didn't have that much time to worry about it because of all the Slytherins arriving at her office. Many of them were simply curious, she learned quickly, although there were one or two minor problems and some of the students just wanted to talk. When she eventually asked whether they wouldn't rather wait for Professor Snape to return, one – a boy with possibly the oldest eyes she had ever seen on a third-year – said laconically, "Professor Snape said we could trust you as much as we trust him."

"Did he really?"

"Yeah, we thought it was a bit strange too. Uh – meaning no disrespect, Professor," he added awkwardly.

That had thrown her. His trusting her with personal matters was one thing, but his trusting her with his Slytherins – and more, actually saying so – was a surprise.

* * *

In the end it was over a week – ten days, to be exact – before he returned. She didn't realise he was back until Crookshanks meowed and leapt off her lap, trotting swiftly through her rooms to her office; she followed and arrived in the doorway to see her familiar winding through Severus' legs and nearly tripping him. Growling insincere insults, Severus bent to stroke the cat before standing and brushing snow off his Muggle coat; he looked exhausted, with the peculiarly blurred expression that usually meant a lot of long-distance Apparition within a short space of time. Scowling to hide her relief, Hermione put her hands on her hips in her best imitation of Molly Weasley.

"And just what time do you call this, Severus Snape?" she demanded.

From his grin she suspected he recognised the impression. "Honey, I'm home," he offered sarcastically; he sounded tired, too.

"Where have you been?"

"I missed you."

"You're not getting around me that easily," she said firmly, recognising and trying to ignore the look in his eyes as she reminded herself that she was angry with him. "Where were you? You've had your phone switched off and you've not responded to my Patronus."

"True," he admitted, dropping his wet coat carelessly on the floor and advancing on her purposefully.

"Will you give me a straight answer?"

"No," he replied calmly, cutting off her annoyed response by kissing her. She had missed him too, and almost surrendered, but retained enough spirit to pull away and glare at him.

"Severus, talk to me."

"Later," he murmured, more interested in kissing her neck. Belatedly checking that her office door was shut, she tried not to shiver, attempting to stay focused.

"Severus..."

"_Later,_" he insisted, nipping the sensitive spot below her ear.

"You're exhausted..." she managed, weakening.

"Not that exhausted," he replied in a low growl that sent shivers down her spine, and she had to admit that he certainly didn't seem too tired, if the feel of his erection pressing against her was anything to go by. Apparently he really had missed her – or he really, really didn't want to talk about where he'd been. Hermione was running out of arguments, and his next kiss was fierce enough that she couldn't have articulated them in any case. As his tongue entered her mouth, she gave in, after making a mental note to ensure that he realised afterwards that she wouldn't let him get away with this – at least, not very often.

This was an entirely different side of Severus, she realised in the small part of her brain still capable of rational thought; he wasn't precisely rough, but certainly more insistent and more ardent than she had ever known him. More vocal, too, she noted absently as she melted against him and yielded to his hungry kisses. He fumbled impatiently with their clothing, making low sounds of frustration; he finally tore her blouse, and it was a mark of how far gone she was that she felt only relief that the cloth was out of the way at last, as she yanked his shirt open to expose his chest.

He turned her then, pulling her back against his chest and assaulting her neck greedily, kissing, sucking and biting as his hands slid down her body and began tugging her skirt up. Her breath hitched as she felt him pressed against her, almost painfully hard, and she moaned and reached behind her to help unfasten his jeans. He hissed as she brushed against his erection, and one hand slid up over her stomach to cup her breast through her bra, his fingers teasing her nipple as his other hand traced the edge of her knickers. He was starting to grind his body against her now; she shuddered and arched back against him, panting.

He drew away just long enough to shove his jeans and underwear down over his hips before returning to the attack, groaning softly into her ear as his tongue traced the rim before he bit down lightly on her earlobe, drawing a low moan from her as she squirmed back against him. His hands continued to roam her body, pulling her knickers down almost roughly and pushing her towards the desk, breathing harder now. Gripping her shoulders, he pushed her down on the desk, bending over her; his weight pressed her down against the cool, polished wood, and she felt the heat of his shaft between her thighs before he paused, trembling.

"Hermione," he panted, his breath hot on her ear, "please..."

"Oh, God, yes," she managed to gasp, barely coherent, as she pushed back against him with her skirt bunched around her waist. "Yes, Severus, yes!"

He shuddered and shifted his hips, nudging her legs a little further apart, and she felt him sliding along her body before he growled deep in his throat and thrust deeply into her. She groaned at the sensation and he tangled a hand in her hair, turning her head roughly to the side and leaning over her back to kiss her – awkward from this angle, but no less passionate for that. His other hand gripped her hip, possibly hard enough to bruise; she didn't know and didn't much care, and he held her steady as he drove into her from behind, every thrust pushing her roughly against the unyielding desk.

Writhing under him, she braced herself against his almost brutal movements, biting her lip to try and stifle her cries. Nipping the back of her neck, he kissed the side of her throat before saying hoarsely, "Don't hold back... No one will hear... Let go, Hermione, let go..."

Hearing his wonderful voice saying her name in that husky tone set her blood on fire, and as he buried himself completely inside her and bit down on the spot where her shoulder joined her neck she threw her head back, crying out helplessly before almost screaming in ecstasy; the small part of her that remained rational devoutly hoped that he had remembered to ward the room, because she certainly hadn't. It wouldn't do for the students – or anyone else, for that matter – to hear her shouting the Potions master's name as he brought her to orgasm. A moment later he cried out, almost a roar, the sound too primitive for words, and she felt him climax violently with her.

Slumped over the desk, panting, it took a few minutes for the coloured stars to fade and awareness to creep back. "Well," she said breathlessly, resting her head on her arms, "I guess you're glad to be home?"

He chuckled softly, sounding a little shaken himself, and nuzzled her neck gently. "Apparently so," he agreed. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. Definitely not."

"Good." He sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "I probably should apologise," he said reflectively, "but I don't really want to."

Turning her head, she smiled dazedly at him, managing to stop herself from unthinkingly telling him that he hadn't done anything to apologise for. "Git," she said idly instead. "You're going to have to move. There's a reason beds are more popular than desks for... illicit liaisons."

She felt the vibration of laughter against her back before he braced his arms either side of her head and slowly began to ease up, but she never heard his answer as he stiffened suddenly. "Shit!"

"What?"

"McGonagall's coming," he said succinctly, hastily pulling away and starting to scramble back into his clothes. "Damn the woman!"

"Oh, hell!" Flushing, Hermione grabbed her wand, muttering cleansing charms as she pulled her knickers back into place and smoothed her skirt down. "Damnit, Severus. You owe me a new blouse." Either that, or she would finally have to make an effort to master darning charms.

"I'll make it out of the Headmistress' hide," he muttered, fumbling to do up his shirt. "Of all the inconvenient timings..."

"It could have been worse," she suggested, yanking a jumper from the back of the chair and thanking her lucky stars that it had a high neck – she could feel at least two love bites forming. "She could have showed up a couple of minutes ago."

"That doesn't bear thinking about," he said with feeling, raking his fingers through his hair and hastily looking himself over as Hermione straightened her clothing before sitting down unsteadily. "So much for afterglow," he added ruefully.

"Well, that's what you get for showing up out of the blue and pouncing on me in my own office."

"To use your favoured response, you didn't put up much of a fight," he told her with a faint smirk as she made a doomed attempt to straighten her hair. Sex made it frizz worse than rain ever had.

When Minerva knocked and walked in, she found the Muggle Studies professor sitting calmly behind her desk as the Potions master paced to one side. "Timothy Alton came to see me twice," Hermione was saying.

"I know about Timothy. He just needs to talk sometimes. He doesn't get much attention at home. What about the first years? There's a girl, Leonida..."

"No, she didn't visit. Hello, Minerva."

"Hmm. Perhaps that has been dealt with. Good afternoon, Headmistress."

"You're back then, Severus."

"Indeed," he replied smoothly. "I was just speaking to Professor Granger to see if there had been any urgent problems amongst the Slytherins during my absence."

"You were only gone for a few days."

"Doubtless it seemed like a lifetime," he drawled, looking faintly amused. "Was there anything else, Hermione?"

"I don't think so. Nothing that can't wait. You look like you need some sleep." _Especially now, _she added to herself, fighting the urge to either blush or start laughing. His lips twitched as he fought not to smirk, but it was true, he now looked utterly exhausted and the skin under his eyes looked almost bruised.

"Thank you," he replied dryly, turning away. "Headmistress." The two women watched him leave, and Hermione noticed – not for the first time – that he suppressed his limp in front of other people. Tobias Prince limped badly, because it was an effective disguise; Professor Snape barely limped at all if he could avoid it, regardless of how it made his leg ache; and Severus fell somewhere between the two.

"Honestly, Hermione, I swear he gets worse. How do you put up with him?" Minerva asked.

"His bark is worse than his bite. When he wants to be, he's good company," she replied absently.

"Did he say where he's been?"

"Only that it was personal business. Did he tell you?"

"Not even that. He just told me he'd be away for about a week and that he'd dumped the snakes on you."

Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't call them that. The Slytherins aren't any different from the other children."

"We both know that's not true, dear. Anyway, I'm working on the Christmas duty rota, and I wanted to know what your plans were. I assume you'll be spending Christmas with your mystery man?"

Suppressing a sigh, she followed the change of topic. "Christmas Eve, and certainly part of Christmas Day, although I want to drop in at The Burrow in the afternoon."

"That's fine. Give my regards to Molly and Arthur when you see them."

"I will."

"I was going to ask Severus, but doubtless he'll be here, skulking around the dungeons as usual. I don't believe he's ever left the school at Christmas since he was eleven."

"I don't suppose he has," she agreed quietly. "Then again, I don't suppose he had anywhere to go where he would have been welcome."

Minerva hesitated, then shook her head and dropped the subject.

* * *

Hermione headed down to the dungeons around mid-morning the following day and found a sleepy but awake Severus sitting at the table in his dressing gown, working his way through a plate of sandwiches with single-minded determination. He hadn't shaved yet and looked unusually scruffy. "Good morning," she greeted him.

He grunted in reply, washing the last of the sandwich down with a gulp of black coffee and sitting back. "Morning," he allowed, still tired apparently but not as dangerously exhausted as he had looked yesterday.

"You still look a bit washed out," she told him, eyeing him critically. "Were you Apparating a lot?"

He nodded wearily. "More than I expected to. Don't scold; it was important."

"Were you successful?"

"Yes."

"So...?"

"What?"

"Severus."

"I said don't scold." He relented, finishing the last of his coffee. "All right. Let me get dressed first."

* * *

When he emerged from the bathroom, shaved and dressed and looking more like his usual self, he hesitated in the doorway of the sitting room, starting to look a little uncertain – that was never a good sign. "Sit down, Hermione, please."

Irrationally worried, she did as he asked, watching him pacing back and forth for a few moments. "Severus, you're making me nervous. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. I am simply not sure how you will react," he replied honestly, halting his pacing and coming to sit opposite her. "I do not know if I did the right thing or not."

"Well, tell me, and we'll see."

His eyes slid away from hers and he sighed, reluctantly taking a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothing it out. Staring down at it, he fiddled with a corner before taking a breath and mutely holding it out to her. Utterly confused now, Hermione took it and looked down at the familiar spiky handwriting, and nearly dropped it in shock.

Scrawled on the top of the page was the single word, '_Grangers,_' and below that was the address of what seemed to be a dental surgery somewhere in France.

After several long minutes of silence, Severus shifted uneasily and began attempting to explain himself. "I recall you telling me that you didn't even know if your parents were still alive and had no idea where they were. You need your next of kin's address for legal reasons, and I thought you might want to know they were all right. I don't know whether you wish to attempt to contact them or not, but I thought you should at least have the option." He paused, watching her uncertainly. "Hermione?"

"How... how did you find them?" she asked distantly, not really sure what she was feeling just yet.

He shifted again, apparently not liking her reaction. "I went to Australia to look in the census records. Hogwarts had their approximate last known address on file, which helped. They remained in Australia for a year or two, then returned to Britain. They spent several years moving around before relocating to France four years ago, where they have been ever since. They have their own dental practice in a town in the Dordogne region."

"You can Apparate all the way to Australia?"

"Theoretically, yes. In reality, it must be done in stages. And it is very tiring. I didn't want to use an official Portkey." He asked carefully, "Are you all right?"

"I honestly don't know," she said weakly, still staring at her parents' names. "This is... a bit of a shock."

"I am sorry," he said hesitantly. "I didn't want to tell you before, in case I couldn't find them or something had happened to them."

Belatedly noticing that he was looking a little agitated, she shook her head. "It's not your fault, Severus. I just... wasn't expecting this. I don't really know how I feel about it yet. But I'm grateful, really I am."

He didn't look convinced. "I'll leave you to think about it. I want a cigarette anyway."

Caught in her own thoughts, she didn't notice him leave.

* * *

Once the initial numbness had worn off, Hermione found herself better able to think. She hadn't had any idea of what Severus had planned or what he had been going to do; he didn't mention her parents since she had asked him not to, what seemed another lifetime ago. She had heard nothing from her parents for almost eleven years. If what Severus had said was true, then they had been in the same country for a long time, but they hadn't attempted to contact her; that hurt. Her address hadn't changed until recently, by which time they had moved to France, of all places.

In a way, she wished he hadn't done this. After so long, she had grown used to the idea of never seeing them again, and had almost begun to act as if they were dead. It was easier that way. Now he had stirred everything up again, and it still hurt every bit as much as it had done all those years ago. At the same time, she couldn't deny that she was relieved to learn that they were alive and well. It had been good of Severus to think of it; she wondered how long he had been planning it. He was probably the only person who, once the idea had occurred to him, wouldn't merely dismiss it as a passing whim but would sit down and work out how to do it and then follow through. He had put a lot of effort into this.

Finally she decided that on the whole, this was a good thing. In the New Year, she would write to them, just a short note to say that she was well and hoped they were too and to tell them that they could contact her at Hogwarts if they ever needed to. She felt better once that was settled, and looked up to find Crookshanks looking at her somewhat disapprovingly.

"What?" she asked the cat.

He laid his ears back and turned to look at the clock before glancing pointedly around the semi-dark and undeniably empty room. Frowning, Hermione followed his gaze, and realised that she had been here for hours; it was almost half three in the afternoon now, and there was no sign of Severus. _Shit. _He had been right to worry about her reaction; her gratitude hadn't exactly been overwhelming. But these were his rooms; she hadn't meant to drive him away. Feeling guilty, she fetched the Marauder's Map and bent over it, scanning the worn parchment hopefully for the familiar name.

There was no sign of him, which meant he was probably out in the grounds somewhere. Gathering warm clothing, Hermione headed upstairs. It was snowing hard, she noticed uneasily as she passed a window, and she hoped he had had the sense to go somewhere warm to sulk, but she suspected she had upset him and he was never predictable in that mood.

The sheltered spot to one side of the main steps still held his tracks in the snow; apparently he had spent some time pacing back and forth and chain-smoking, which was unusual. He seldom smoked more than one or two cigarettes in a day, but there were half a dozen ends lying in the snow that she could see. Away from the building, it was snowing hard, and she couldn't find any clear footprints; returning to the shelter of the wall, she checked the map once more without much hope before trying to think. Where would he go if he was feeling upset and possibly angry? He wasn't on the Astronomy Tower. He probably wouldn't use the bluebell clearing at this time of year. He hadn't left the grounds or there would have been a sign on his office door to say he was out for the day. The only other place she could think of was the war memorial, unless he'd gone for a walk in the Forbidden Forest.

Luck was on her side. The swirling snow wasn't quite thick enough to hide the dark figure standing in the lee of the obelisk. "Severus?" she called as she drew close.

He didn't answer, giving her a guarded nod when she was near enough before returning his gaze to the swirling white that surrounded them. Judging by the snow clinging to his cloak, he had been here for some time. _Stubborn, stupid idiot of a man... _Sighing, Hermione drew her own cloak closer around herself and came to stand next to him; he moved away a step, ostensibly to allow her further into the dubious shelter of the memorial.

"Severus, I'm sorry for reacting like that. I didn't mean to be so ungrateful. It was just very unexpected, that's all; I needed to get over the shock."

"I did not intend to upset you," he replied carefully.

"You didn't. I'm not upset. I'm not," she insisted when he glanced at her. "You just caught me by surprise."

"That was the idea," he said quietly in a slightly rueful tone, and she had to smile. Most men who planned what was intended to be a thoughtful surprise would be upset if it didn't get a positive reaction, after all. She reached out to take his arm and moved to stand closer.

"It was very sweet of you," she told him deliberately, smiling as he scowled. "Seriously though, Severus, it was a lovely thing to do, and I'm glad you did. It's good to know they're all right, and I might write to them in the New Year. Thank you."

For a few moments he didn't respond, but finally she felt him relax, and she leaned against him. "And you didn't need to stay out here so long," she added. "Your rooms are big enough for you to have given me space to think without catching hypothermia. In fact, you had the entire castle to sulk in."

After a few more moments of silence he replied mildly, "I did ask you not to scold."

Relieved, Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Don't do things that you deserve scolding for, then. Come on; I'm freezing, even if you're not."

"Have you seen how hard it's snowing? Of course I'm freezing, woman," he grumbled as they started walking back to the school. "And it's your fault," he added.

It hadn't been, really, but she allowed him the victory, smiling at him. "I'll make it up to you."

"You had better."

* * *

_Good boy, Severus. You're getting the hang of this.  
_


	20. Chapter 20

_Shameless Christmas fluff. I make no apologies.__  


* * *

_

**"****Everybody's looking for that something **  
**One thing that makes it all complete **  
**You find it in the strangest places **  
**Places you never knew it could be****.****"**  
– Westlife, 'Flying Without Wings'.

* * *

It took him another three days to completely recover; Hermione used the interval to ask a few of her Ministry friends about long-distance Apparition and concluded that it should have taken him a lot longer and that he had been an idiot to do as much travelling as he had in such a short time. She took him to task for that, for using sex as a distraction, for nearly getting them both caught by Minerva and for going off in a blizzard to sulk; he endured the scolding with an odd smile that she didn't even begin to understand, before effectively disarming her during a pause for breath by commenting in an almost fond tone, "Little hellcat," and gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear, which neatly robbed her of her anger – judging by his smirk, that had probably been the point. The conversation had largely degenerated into name-calling at that point until she had given up and stalked off, followed by his laughter.

The incident seemed to have marked another shift in their relationship; Severus seemed to be in a much calmer mood as December progressed, less moody. Even when he was dragged into something approaching being sociable, he tended to fade into the background now instead of lurking in a corner scowling, and his temper was less evident. Hermione suspected that he simply felt a little more confident; once again he had taken a risk, edged a little further out of himself, and nothing bad had happened as a result, so he could relax a little and grow used to this new position before he started gearing up for the next step.

"At this rate it should only take another decade or so before he's a normal, functional human being," she told Luna wryly the next time she met with her friend for some last-minute shopping, three days before Christmas. Ginny was with them, and although the younger woman was a little distracted, her presence meant that Hermione had to be careful with what she said.

"Well, you knew this wasn't going to be easy," Luna replied cheerfully.

"I suppose I was never going to choose anyone conventional, was I?"

"No." Luna peered into her bag, reviewing what she had bought. "Have you got him anything for Christmas yet?"

"No," Hermione said worriedly. "It's almost too late now, really. I have to get him _something. _It doesn't have to be anything fancy, but I want it to at least mean something. Especially since he tracked down my parents for my present – at least, I assume that's why he did it at this time of year."

"Is he expecting anything?" Ginny asked.

"Knowing him, no, he isn't," she replied with a sigh, "which makes it even more important that I do get him something. I'm going to teach him not to be a complete pessimist if it kills me."

"From what you've told me about him, it might well do," Luna said mildly. "We can go into Muggle London and look for ideas if you like."

"Do you go into the Muggle world much?"

"Sometimes. I never used to, but it's actually quite interesting," she replied serenely. Hermione tried to imagine the vague and otherworldly Luna wandering through the chaos of Muggle London and decided not to. She was never completely sure how aware her friend was of the world around her.

"Why not buy something for the both of you?" Ginny suggested, grinning.

"Like what?" Hermione asked warily.

"Lingerie?"

Hermione considered this, trying her best to see it as a serious suggestion. Truthfully, she had never seen the appeal. It might be fun to dress up in something fancy just to see the look on Severus' face, but she wasn't sure he would understand the point either; he would appreciate that it looked good, but the only interest he had ever shown in her underwear was generally how quickly – or slowly, if he was in a teasing mood – he could remove it, and he clearly preferred her without any clothes at all. She said as much now, between fits of giggling.

"Lucky cow," Ginny replied good-naturedly. "You seem to have found the only man who doesn't need you to constantly make a huge effort – I'd take a little social dysfunction and emotional retardation for that. Want to trade him for Harry?"

Luna sounded like she was in danger of choking to death, and Hermione almost collapsed in the snowy street. "Um, I can absolutely guarantee that you wouldn't want him," she managed finally in a strangled tone, wondering if she dared tell Severus about this conversation – she would pay an awful lot of money to see his face, but preferably from a very long way away. "Anyway, I do sort of need him. Is everything all right with you and Harry?"

"Oh, yes, we're fine. We're thinking of trying for another baby. Actually, he wanted me to talk to you about that..."

"Me?" Hermione asked blankly. "Why me?"

"We were having a conversation about names last week. He's got it into his head that if it's a boy, he'd like one of his names to honour Professor Snape in some way. You seem to be the only one who speaks to him; what would he think?"

"I... really don't know, Gin," Hermione said slowly. "I think it's a lovely idea, in theory, but I don't know what he would think of it. I can ask him if you like, but it might take me a while to subtly work it into a conversation. He doesn't much like talking about Harry at all, really, and I don't want to just come out with it." Personally, she thought that the Boy-Who-Lived naming his son after Severus Snape was a wonderful tribute and would do a lot to improve Severus' general reputation, but given the history involved – and Severus' view on his reputation – she doubted he would see it in the same way.

"Well, I haven't even come off my contraceptive potion yet, so you've probably got about a year to find out if he approves or not," Ginny said cheerfully. "And it'll probably be another girl anyway after all that."

"What, with the Weasley genes?" Luna said mildly. "Six boys to one girl?"

"I'm definitely not having seven children." The other two simply looked at her, and she scowled defensively. "I'm not! Three's my limit."

"After James was born, you said one was enough," Hermione pointed out, smiling.

"And then after Lily, you said two was plenty," Luna added.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you."

The three strolled on companionably, looking in shop windows for inspiration. "What does Mystery Man think of children, Hermione?" Ginny asked after a while.

"Raw or cooked?"

"Don't be coy. Does he want kids?"

"It doesn't really matter one way or the other," she told them quietly. "He's infertile."

"Really?"

"Yes. He told me ages ago – after our first time, when I realised we hadn't taken any precautions. He's known since he was in his teens."

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"What on earth for?"

"Well..."

"Gin, stop channelling your brother. I've never wanted to settle down and raise a family," Hermione said gently. "And he doesn't want children either."

"Are you just saying that?" Luna asked curiously.

"No, I mean it. Oh, if there was some kind of medical miracle and I did wind up pregnant, we'd deal with it – I suppose I'd be happy, and I don't _think_ he'd object – but it's never been something either of us really wanted."

"I suppose that's fair enough," Ginny allowed. "You're not like me or Mum, that's true. But things seem to be getting pretty serious with this guy – you're living together, he went out and found your parents for you. Do you think he'll propose?"

"No," Hermione said with certainty. This, at least, was a question she was sure of. "No, I don't think we'll marry."

"Merlin's beard, why not? You've admitted you love him. It certainly sounds like he loves you."

"Because there's no reason to." Shaking her head, she tried to explain. "Nothing would change if we marry. We already live together. I already wear a ring he gave me that I never take off," she said, indicating her otter ring. "If we married, I'd keep my surname – it's my last tie to my family, and he had some issues with his parents, so he probably wouldn't want anyone else to bear his surname. There won't be any children, legitimate or otherwise. All that would change is that we'd have a piece of paper and a great deal of extremely unwelcome publicity – lots of pain for no real gain. I'm in favour of marriage generally, but it's not right for us." Besides, she knew Severus would never have the courage to ask, even if he wanted to; his fear of rejection was never going to heal entirely. She could always ask him, but she wasn't bothered one way or the other and she suspected he didn't have a positive view of marriage, given his upbringing.

Ginny looked like she was going to argue, but Luna interrupted. "Let it go, Ginny. I know who this man is, and Hermione's right. The backlash if the world in general found out would be... horrific."

Ginny blinked. "That bad?"

"Worse," Hermione said glumly. "Why do you think I won't even tell my closest friends who he is?"

"But Luna knows?"

"I guessed," Luna said. "And I only guessed because I already knew in advance who had given Hermione her ring, otherwise I wouldn't have known."

"Really, 'Mione, I can't think of anyone so bad that I couldn't forgive you, especially since I've seen how happy he's made you. Well, no, I can think of a few, but they're all dead by now, and this man clearly isn't evil."

"It's not personal, Gin. I think you'd understand, eventually, but Harry definitely wouldn't and I know you hate keeping anything from him. And the rest of your family would go mental – except maybe George. He'd probably think it was funny. I think Neville's starting to suspect, and I don't want to be around when he finally guesses."

"I'll talk to him if you like," Luna offered.

"No, that's okay. I'll deal with it. But it won't be pleasant."

"Well, I'm absolutely at a loss," Ginny said with a sigh, "but I'll take your word for it. For now. You're going to have to tell us eventually though, unless you plan to keep him hidden away for the rest of his life. Or is that the point?" she added mischievously. "That's it, isn't it? You've just got him chained to your bed somewhere."

Luna went into mild hysterics at that point, and Hermione wasn't much better. "No," she gasped finally, when she could breathe again. "No, I do plan to let him out occasionally. You're right, I will have to tell you sometime. But not now, okay?"

"Okay. Now that's settled, what are you getting him for Christmas, if you're not going to go and buy a wedding ring?"

"Bugger. I don't know. You two were supposed to be helping me."

"You could just ask him what he wants," Ginny said.

"I _could, _but I'd rather come up with something thoughtful by myself. He hasn't had that very often."

"You could take him out somewhere," Luna suggested, still a little breathless from her laughing fit. "He likes the Muggle world. Go somewhere different, dress up formally and have a night out."

"That's a thought. I might do that anyway. But I still want him to have something to open on Christmas morning – especially since I'll be abandoning him in the afternoon to go to The Burrow."

"I still think lingerie's your best bet, if you want him to have something to... _unwrap,_" Ginny said wickedly.

"He'd probably rip it. He's been pretty hard on my clothes recently," Hermione admitted ruefully. "And even if he didn't, I'd be horribly late for dinner with all of you."

"We'd understand," Ginny said impishly. "If you're late, I'll be sure to announce to everyone that you're in bed having your underwear torn off you before being ravished by your mysterious tall, dark and handsome wizard."

"Thanks," she said dryly, privately resolving to be early just to prevent such an announcement. Severus would not be impressed, and she would quite possibly die of embarrassment; a change of subject seemed to be in order now. "Come on. I'm sure we'll find something." Luna's suggestion of going somewhere different had given her the beginnings of an idea, but she needed to talk to him about it first. "Let's find somewhere quiet; I want to send my Patronus and ask him something."

They found a small park that was mercifully free of small children and settled on a bench. "What?" Luna asked interestedly.

"I know he likes Muggle carols; I want to ask if he's ever been to midnight Mass at Christmas. If he has, I'll take him to the carol service at King's College, Cambridge."

"I've heard of that," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Not my thing, or Harry's, but it's supposed to be good, isn't it?"

"It's meant to be incredible. I just want to make sure the religious aspect won't put him off." She sent the silver otter on its way, hoping she had phrased her question in such a way that he would be circumspect in his reply and wishing his phone would work at Hogwarts.

"What's his Patronus?" Ginny asked; Luna already knew.

"You'll see in a minute, if he answers. The Patronus won't go to him unless he's alone, so if he's talking to someone there's going to be a delay. And he might be in a mood – he seemed all right this morning, but anything could have happened by now."

"You've worked out a privacy measure with the Patronus messages? That could be handy. Is it difficult?"

"Not really. I'll show you all at Christmas."

After a few minutes Luna pointed. "There. Is that it?"

The faint, semi-transparent silver fox was trotting towards them over the snow, leaving no prints. "A fox, that's pretty," Ginny commented, watching. "I can't wait to hear his voice."

Hermione thought her heart would stop. She hadn't thought of that, and exchanged an alarmed glance with Luna; Severus' voice was so distinctive that it would be instantly recognisable. _I really, really hope he's remembered that I'm not alone... _Then again, given that he hadn't used the same privacy measure when sending his reply, presumably he had. When the fox reached them, it gazed at Hermione and the sharp muzzle parted as it answered simply, "_Yeah; every year, near as."_

The slang made her relax, and she sighed in relief despite the prickle she still felt at hearing his wonderful voice distorted by that rough accent. The fox actually winked at her before turning neatly on the spot and dissolving.

Luna blinked. "That wasn't his voice... was it?"

"It's the voice he uses when he doesn't want to be identified," Hermione explained, grinning in relief. "He must have remembered I wouldn't be on my own. Sorry, Gin, no clues there."

"Damn," the redhead replied cheerfully. "I suppose you've got your Christmas present idea now then?"

"Yes, but I still want to get him something. Come on, we've got a couple of hours until the shops close."

* * *

Hermione wished that she had thought of this idea months ago. To get tickets and reserve seats for the Nine Lessons and Carols at King's, you needed to apply by around October. Otherwise, you had to queue up. And if you wanted a seat, you needed to start queuing early; if you didn't get there by about 9 am, you'd be standing for the full hour and a half service, which didn't start until 3 pm.

Severus was _not _pleased to be woken at six in the morning on Christmas Eve and told to get ready for a long day and to wear smart Muggle clothing, especially when she wouldn't tell him why. She thought he might refuse at first. She could understand his attitude; God knows he got little enough sleep most of the time; but this was a special occasion, and she overrode his objection somewhat callously. He was sullen and monosyllabic until after he had showered and had a cup of coffee, when he woke up enough to start complaining properly; he continued to complain throughout the long walk down the Hogwarts drive in the snowy darkness to the Apparition point outside the gates, and grew openly irritated when she refused to tell him where they were going and insisted on Side-Along Apparition.

Apparently he didn't like Side-Along any more than anyone else did, and spent a few moments regaining his balance and shaking off the unpleasant sensations before he scowled around him at the wintry streets. "Where are we?"

"Cambridge."

"And why are we in Cambridge at seven in the morning?" he asked grumpily.

"We're going to be joining lots of other people in front of that building over there and standing around in the snow for the next eight hours."

He looked at her levelly, then turned and stared through the darkness towards the building in question. "Ah, I see," he replied in a voice that indicated he was running out of patience. "And why are we going to be doing such a thing?"

"That's the chapel of King's College," she replied, as though that explained everything.

He blinked and looked down at her, surprised. "The carol service? So that's why you asked me about midnight Mass the other day. I did wonder." Staring at her for a long moment, he finally broke eye contact and turned to look back at the chapel. "You could have just said so," he said eventually in a faintly exasperated tone of voice.

Hermione grinned and tucked her arm through his. "I know I could have. But where would be the fun in that?" He glared at her, and she stifled a giggle. "I know, I know, I'm insufferable."

"Hmph," was his only response, as they walked carefully along the icy path to join the slowly forming queue.

* * *

Eight hours of standing around in the cold gave them a lot of time to talk; and, after all, Severus was the one who had invented the handy little charm that prevented anyone from overhearing. He smiled wryly when she cast _Muffliato, _apparently in a slightly better mood now, and asked dryly, "So what questions do you have now?"

She smiled back at him. "I was wondering what your religious background was like. I mean, I don't know many wizards who'd go to church."

He shrugged. "My parents were not religious at all and it played no part in my upbringing. It's pure coincidence that I began attending midnight Mass at Christmas. I was... twenty three, I think, or twenty four. I had gone back to Spinner's End for Christmas because Dumbledore was driving me absolutely insane and I couldn't stand it at Hogwarts any longer; I couldn't sleep, and I went for a walk. I happened to pass the local Catholic church and I heard music; I was curious, and I went in and stood at the back to listen. I knew a little about the religion – enough to realise that it was almost certainly a load of rubbish – but I had never been interested before. I found an Order of Service leaflet and looked through it, and most of it made no sense at all, but the music... it was beautiful. Listening to the organ, and to the congregation singing along with the choir... there was an atmosphere there that I had never felt before, a sense of peace and of – a _je ne sais quoi. _Whatever it was, I knew I didn't belong to it, but I could still feel it, and I liked it. The next chance I got I went out and bought a cassette of Muggle carols; and after that I tried to get to a church every year if I could."

"I did wonder if you were Jewish, actually, or part Jewish," Hermione said reflectively. At least until they had started sleeping together, anyway, as he wasn't circumcised.

"Really? Why?" he asked curiously.

"Well, 'Tobias' is a Hebrew name; and some of your features..."

"My nose," he said flatly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"...Yes," she admitted carefully, "but your eyes, too – they're truly black, not brown, and black eyes aren't exactly Caucasian."

Severus considered this, looking thoughtful. "I suppose you have a point," he allowed cautiously. "My father may have been Jewish or part Jewish – if he was, he had lapsed, but he may have been. I know very little about either side of my family tree. The Princes cut my mother off almost completely for marrying a Muggle, but there weren't many of them left anyway; the line was all but dead, which is one reason she did it. I vaguely recall my Muggle grandparents; my grandmother died when I was very small, and I was perhaps seven or eight when I saw my grandfather die in hospital, but I only ever met them once or twice. I never really cared enough to investigate my family background," he added indifferently. They stood in silence for a few minutes before he asked, "What about you?"

"My parents are both Protestants, but they were never particularly devout. We'd go to church on Sundays if we didn't have anything better to do, and I was christened to make my grandparents happy. But we always went to the midnight service at Christmas, as soon as I was old enough to make it through the whole service without causing a fuss. I know what you mean about the atmosphere. You can almost feel the faith, can't you? I don't believe in it, really, but there's definitely _something _there."

"Yes," he agreed quietly.

* * *

It was a very long day, just standing around in the cold, broken only by their taking it in turns to walk to the closest public toilets or to pick up coffee or food, and it was freezing. At one point Severus chivalrously took his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders, earning approving smiles from everyone else in the queue that made him scowl and Hermione smile as she drew the somewhat battered coat around her, enjoying the lingering warmth and scent of him.

Finally the doors opened at about half past one and they were allowed inside; Severus was limping more noticeably by that point. "Are you all right?" she asked in an undertone. "I know the cold makes your knee hurt."

"Yes," he murmured in reply. "I have simply spent too long standing in the same place. Once I am sitting down I'll be fine."

They found their seats, and she smiled at him. "I actually thought about trying to find you a nice walking stick for Christmas," she admitted. "It wouldn't have been anything terrible; maybe an antique sword-stick or something similar. But all the ones I saw just reminded me of Lucius Malfoy's pimp cane."

He choked. "His _what?_" he asked in a strangled voice, and she grinned at him.

"That's what I thought of the first time I saw him. The cane, the coat... all he needed was a shiny gold medallion, some glittery sovereign rings and a gold tooth."

Severus was shaking with near-silent laughter as he squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip to fight off his mirth. "I would give every Galleon I have ever possessed or will ever possess to have been able to see his face had he heard you say that," he said unsteadily, his lips twitching. "I believe it would have put Bellatrix's fits to shame." After a moment he added regretfully, "Although now that I think about it, he wouldn't have understood the reference. All the more reason for your new syllabus to take effect as soon as possible, so overbearing pompous prats like Lucius can understand that they are not as intimidating as they believe they are."

"I think that Minerva's going to bring it up at the next staff meeting; she wants to make Muggle Studies optional from the first year upwards next year, I think. We haven't discussed it."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful, and she smiled, recognising that expression; he was planning something.

"Save your nefarious plotting for another time, Slytherin," she ordered softly. "This is a place of worship."

"Expecting a divine thunderbolt to come smashing through the ceiling?" he asked mockingly. "I am somewhat surprised that I didn't burst into flames on crossing the threshold."

"Severus," she scolded softly, and he smiled.

"Do you imagine that I don't know the persistent rumour that insists that I am a vampire," he asked dryly, "despite the fact that I do eat in public occasionally and frequently walk around in daylight where I can be seen? Of all the myriad rumours about me, that one makes the least sense."

"A popular one when I was at school said you were an unregistered Animagus," she said reminiscently.

He snorted softly. "That's a very old tale. Which version did you hear – the raven, the bat or the snake?"

"All of them," Hermione admitted. "Also possibly a spider."

"I hadn't heard that one before. Of the four, I believe I could live with a raven. I don't much fancy the idea of a bat or a spider, and I never liked snakes much... even before the Shack."

"The Head of Slytherin doesn't like snakes?" she asked before she could stop herself. Now, that made sense, because of Nagini, but in the past...

"The irony wasn't lost on me," he replied dryly. "In any case, I assure you I am not a vampire or an Animagus."

"I think I'd have noticed by now if you were a vampire," she retorted, and he snorted softly. "You'd make a good raven," she said reflectively. "Or a panther, perhaps – I could see that." Yes, he would be an impressive panther, dark and sleek and predatory and gracefully dangerous; or maybe an eagle...

"A wolverine would be more likely," he muttered, his lips twitching, and she smiled.

"No, you're too skinny and too controlled. Did you ever consider becoming an Animagus?"

"Briefly – I imagine most people think about it at least once. But I never seriously considered it. Transfiguration is not my strong point anyway, and I disliked the idea of potentially being stuck with a form I did not like. Knowing my luck, it _would _have been a spider. You were always very good at Transfiguration, I recall – did you try it?"

"The preliminaries," she admitted. "I got far enough to know that it could have worked. But I never progressed any further – I don't think I want to change into an animal again. Once was enough."

He smothered a laugh, shaking his head. "It was no more than you deserved. You are fortunate I was able to create the antidote, or you might still have a tail to this day. Polyjuice accidents are notoriously difficult to fix."

"Yes, yes, I am eternally grateful, o esteemed Potions master," she replied sarcastically. "I'd like to know what my form would be, though."

"A miniature poodle," he replied instantly, his eyes glittering with cheerful malice. "Ridiculous amounts of uncontrollable curly hair, and an incessant, unceasing yap."

"You git!" she gasped in outrage, barely stopping herself from swearing at him – they _were _in church, after all – and contenting herself with driving an elbow into his ribs hard enough to make him grunt.

Obviously struggling to hold back laughter, Severus grinned wickedly at her, his eyes crinkled with amusement as he leaned back in his seat; he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him in public. His grin faded slowly, leaving only a trace of a smile in his eyes, his expression turning more serious before he dropped his gaze and looked away. "No," he said softly, "you wouldn't be anything so absurd. You would be a lioness, all fierce beauty and fire and passion."

He'd done it again, completely disarmed her and left her staring at him as her anger drained away. Hermione shook her head slowly, stunned by the compliment – every so often he did say the sweetest things, apparently sincerely. He wasn't looking at her now, instead apparently engrossed in studying the floor under his boots, and finally she smiled and accepted defeat – she was never going to win a war of words with him. Drawing his coat more snugly around her shoulders, she rested a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently; she knew better than to actually thank him or verbally acknowledge it in any way. He laid his hand over hers, his long fingers lacing through hers and his thumb sliding under her hand to rest against her ring, and they sat quietly waiting for the service to start.

* * *

It was incredible; she regretted not coming years ago. The chapel itself was awe-inspiring, and the acoustics were a choirmaster's dream. The carols were absolutely beautiful, and the ambience of the service held its own quiet magic. But, best of all, she got to hear Severus sing – very quietly, at first, because he was clearly trying not to be overheard, but gradually as he got caught up in the atmosphere he forgot to hold back and she heard him sing for the first time. His voice sent chills down her spine and threatened to bring tears to her eyes – not because he was a good singer, since she was a little biased on that score and honestly couldn't tell, or because of the effect his voice usually had on her, although that was there, but because he had stopped hiding. He had let his guard down completely and was simply being himself; a very rare occurrence and one she usually only saw when they were alone together behind locked and warded doors. He didn't let go of her hand at any point during the service, either.

As they filed out afterwards with the rest of the crowd, Hermione looked up at him. He was relaxed and smiling, his eyes bright and warm as he looked around, and in that unguarded moment she saw again the man he could have been if he had been able to have the life he deserved. He looked younger and happier, so much so that she doubted anyone would recognise him as Severus Snape. Sensing her gaze, he glanced down and raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and she shook her head slightly and smiled at him; he smiled back at her and looked around once more as they headed to a quiet spot to Apparate from.

"It's only half past four," he commented in surprise as they walked, checking his watch.

"I know... it feels later, doesn't it? The service was only an hour and a half, though."

"Are you in a hurry to return?" he asked carefully.

"Not really, no," she replied slowly, looking up at him. "What did you have in mind?"

He shrugged slightly. "Nothing specific; but today has been... pleasant, and..."

"I don't want it to end yet, either," she told him softly, and the smile returned to his eyes.

"Well, then," he said more lightly, "where to, my lady?"

Caught by surprise, she froze for a moment before laughing softly. "I don't know."

"Anywhere you like," he offered.

"I don't care, Severus, as long as I'm with you," she told him honestly, and saw his eyes widen slightly; she squeezed his hand gently, hoping he wasn't going to panic, and continued, "Let's just walk for a little while, and see if anything occurs to us."

After a moment of tension, he exhaled and relaxed, lightly squeezing her fingers in return. "Very well."

* * *

In the end they had simply wandered around for hours, holding hands and talking, enjoying simply being able to spend time together openly with no deadlines and no pressing need to be anywhere in particular. No students, no staff meetings, no commitments. Severus then proceeded to perform a minor miracle by finding what was probably the only restaurant in Cambridge with a free table for two on Christmas Eve, thanks to a last-minute cancellation; even better, the table was a secluded, cosy booth in a dim corner of a small but excellent bistro, granting them privacy and a very good meal. Hermione wondered briefly if he had used magic to arrange it, but by the time dessert arrived – her absolute favourite, black forest gateau, which Severus apparently liked almost as much as she did – she decided that, this once, she didn't care.

He paid for the meal by the simple yet effective method of starting an argument with her about the origins of the phrase 'going Dutch' (in the non-sexual sense) and paying the bill while she was distracted, and laughed at her when she tried to scold him. Taking her hand, he tugged her out into the darkened street, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "Kindly cease arguing," he ordered softly. "You arranged this day, so I bought dinner. Now desist."

Surrendering, she slid an arm around his waist. "Don't you give me orders," she grumbled, knowing that even if she had been truly angry she wouldn't have been able to hold on to her anger for long. Today had been one of those perfect days that didn't happen often but that remained in the memory for a lifetime, and it was impossible to be anything but happy. Especially when he stopped in the middle of the street, turned to face her, tilted her face up and lowered his head and kissed her, as the snow swirled around them. He tasted of sweet chocolate and black cherries and alcohol, and under that were the now-familiar notes of molasses and rain; the flavours of her favourite food mingled with the taste of her lover's mouth.

When he drew away from her, he wasn't smiling, but his eyes were warm. "Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said softly.

Technically it wasn't Christmas for another three hours or so, but she certainly wasn't going to argue. "Happy Christmas, Severus," she replied equally softly.

They Apparated back to the school gates and began walking up the snowy drive towards the castle, still holding hands. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles. "You're cold," he observed.

"A little," she admitted. "I don't mind."

"Nonetheless, I feel a hot bath may be in order."

About to protest that it wasn't necessary, she caught the gleam in his eyes and smiled slowly. "Now that you mention it, I feel that perhaps that would be wise," she agreed thoughtfully. "After all, hypothermia is dreadfully dangerous. It's best not to take the risk. In fact, you seem a little cold yourself..."

"Indeed? But the Headmistress was saying only last week that we should be more economical, so unfortunately it will only be possible to fill the bathtub once."

"That _is _a shame. I suppose it's lucky that you have a large bathtub, then, really."

"A happy coincidence, to be sure," he drawled, reluctantly letting go of her hand as the lights of the castle came into view.

* * *

Hermione lay back in the warm water with a contented sigh and leaned back against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder as his arms settled around her. "Perfect," she murmured softly, closing her eyes and smiling. "If I was a suspicious woman, Severus, I might wonder if you'd planned this apparently spontaneous seduction."

His voice was a deep rumble against her back as he rested his cheek against her wet hair. "I did not know you were going to drag me to Cambridge before dawn," he replied logically. "If I had planned anything, you would have disrupted it. And who said anything about seduction?" he added teasingly, trying – and failing – to sound innocent.

"You're claiming to have no ulterior motives, Slytherin?" she asked, amused. "Even if I believed you... your body says otherwise." To illustrate her point she shifted a little closer against him where she sat between his legs, drawing both their attention to his increasing arousal.

"I am sitting naked in a sunken marble bathtub, surrounded by candles, with a beautiful and equally naked young woman in my arms," he pointed out in a mild tone. "I believe I would have to have been clinically dead for three days _not _to react, under the circumstances, regardless of my original intentions." His arms tightened around her as he nuzzled her neck.

Tilting her head back to let him access her throat, Hermione relaxed into his touch, smiling. "I was right all along, you know."

"About what?" he asked absently, paying more attention to her skin as his hands began to wander.

"Your bathroom; I _knew _this decadence wasn't just for medical reasons."

Severus snorted softly and didn't bother to answer; they both knew she was only teasing, neither of them wanted to get into an argument about his medical needs in the past, and he was clearly far more interested in touching and kissing as much of her body as he could reach. Evidently he had a specific plan in mind, and she was more than happy to go along with it; part of the constant heat between them came from her delight at being the focus of such concentrated intense attention.

In this instance, her reward for allowing him full control was to be gently and tenderly bathed by candlelight before being lifted from the water and carried into the bedroom, where he made sure to dry her thoroughly – a process made both more difficult and more enjoyable by his insistence on using his mouth rather than a towel, kissing each individual drop of water from her skin and lingering over every sensitive place that he had learned over the past few months. Only then did he finally rise above her, his weight pressing her down on the bed as he settled with delicious easy familiarity into the cradle of her hips, and his eyes never left hers as he entered her.

As she moved with him, Hermione considered that this had probably been the most romantic evening of her entire life, and it was all the more so because it was utterly unplanned. Severus had had no idea what she planned for the day and there was no way even he could have arranged any of this in advance. There was something very sweet about the innocent spontaneity of it, and at the same time there was the faintest trace of almost defiant humour in his black eyes that said he knew damned well how clichéd and ridiculous this was and didn't particularly care. _From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step, _she told herself absently, arching her back and groaning into his mouth as he kissed her, _and this is certainly sublime. _Then all thought became utterly impossible and she lost herself to him, only vaguely aware of him sighing her name in pleasure.

* * *

She woke first the next morning, something that didn't happen very often, and smiled to realise that it was Christmas and that she was cradled in her lover's arms. Life didn't get better than this, really. Snuggling closer against him and savouring the warmth of his skin against hers, she looked around the darkened bedroom and realised that Severus must have relaxed his ban against the house-elves for the occasion, since it had to have been them who had stacked her presents beside his bed. Either that, or he had got up earlier and brought them from the staff room or from her rooms, which was actually more likely.

Hermione couldn't see his side of the bed from here, but she didn't need to; she already knew that the only gift there would be her own. That wasn't as upsetting as it might have been, because she knew that he genuinely didn't care, but it was still a shame. Right now, though, she had more pressing concerns, and began the slow process of disentangling herself from his arms without disturbing him before heading to the bathroom.

When she came back, he was awake, albeit only just, and smiled sleepily at her, looking adorably dishevelled. She smiled back at him. "Merry Christmas, Severus."

"Likewise, I suppose," he murmured, stifling a yawn before rolling over and stretching, his voice blurred from sleep.

Trying without success to fight off a grin, she shook her head at him. "Go wash and shave before you lose the ability to speak. I'll put some coffee on." He really wasn't a morning person, as evidenced by the fact that her words drew only a grunt of acknowledgement before he did as she suggested.

Once they were curled up in bed again with mugs of coffee and a purring Crookshanks, he looked more human and watched with an air of tolerant amusement as she reached for the first gift in her pile. After a moment the smile faded and he said quietly, "I didn't get you anything..."

"Don't be silly," she replied instantly, turning her head to smile at him. "You found my parents for me. And you've made me very happy."

He raised an eyebrow. "By that logic, you should not have given me a gift either."

"Ah. Well, it's actually a gift for me, as much as for you," she admitted, smiling sheepishly. "You'll understand when you open it."

Looking curious, he picked up the large, flat box and studied it before undoing the ribbon and removing the wrapping carefully. Opening the box with equal care, he moved aside the layer of tissue paper, and Hermione grinned as she watched his face. She had refused to allow Ginny to talk her into buying lingerie, but the idea of clothing had given her the inspiration. Slowly he drew the black leather coat out of the box and held it up, looking at it with an unreadable expression.

It had cost her a fortune, but he was worth it, and now that she wasn't paying rent any more she had more money to spare.

"I fail to see how this benefits you," he said finally, cocking his head and glancing at her.

"Because I get to see you wearing it, of course," she told him; surely that should have been obvious.

A hint of a smirk crossed his face. "Ah. Of course."

"Stop smiling like that. It's a coat, not a collar. I don't have a leather fetish."

"I did not suggest that you did."

"You didn't have to. You've got an evil smile when you're thinking dirty thoughts."

His smirk grew, but he didn't comment, instead returning his gaze to the coat as his long fingers traced the leather. "Thank you," he said finally, softly.

"You're welcome."

He very carefully laid the coat back in the box and set it to one side before settling back against the pillows with his coffee and watching with an air of fond indulgence as she began working her way through her own presents. They were mostly the usual assortment of books and sweets, but there was one that drew a delighted laugh from her.

"What?" Severus asked curiously.

She grinned and held it up. "Look what Luna gave me." It was a soft jumper with a deep cowl neck, knitted from flecked yarn that was a blend of grey and green – Slytherin colours. It was much nicer than her usual Weasley jumper, although she decided not to tell Molly that; usually she liked her traditional Christmas gift, but this year's offering was a rather washed-out shade of beige. _She's probably running out of colours._

His eyes gleamed with amused approval as he regarded Luna's gift. "Very nice..." he purred.

"I suspect it was meant for you as much as me," Hermione remarked, smiling. "I'd like to wear it today, but I don't think it would be well received. Besides, maybe I should save it for Quidditch matches."

He chuckled softly in response and finished his coffee. "What time are you abandoning me?"

"You'll survive," she told him dryly. "I said I'd be there by half one, but if I don't get there early then Ginny's likely to start painting lurid pictures of why I was delayed."

"What a good idea," he observed.

"Behave," she ordered, suppressing a smile with some difficulty. The gleam in his eyes intensified as he put his cup down, but she didn't have time to react as he moved suddenly and swiftly, almost spilling the last of her own coffee as he dragged her across the bed and into his arms.

Laughing and breathless, she broke the kiss and attempted to pull free. "Severus! I said, behave!"

"Ah," he murmured, smirking, "but you neglected to specify _good _behaviour."

"Oh, you –!" she started to protest, but he silenced her with ruthless efficiency, and as the kiss deepened she found it difficult to remember why she had objected. Managing to pull away briefly, she murmured, "One day, I swear I won't let you get away with this," and kissed him again to stop him laughing. She seldom saw this more playful side of him, and it was wonderful to see him so happy; that alone would have ensured her surrender, even if he wasn't unbelievably good at this.

* * *

"I hope you're happy," she grumbled quite some time later as she emerged from the shower. "I'm going to be late now."

Severus smirked at her from where he lay sprawled unselfconsciously naked amongst the tangled sheets with his arms folded casually behind his head, looking rumpled and sexy and difficult to resist. "As it happens, yes, I am. And no, you're not going to be late. It's not even half twelve yet."

"I haven't eaten anything since last night," she complained.

"Molly Weasley will have made enough food for an army. I promise you won't starve."

"Ah, but I've burned off about six months' worth of calories in the past few days," she replied, and he chuckled softly.

"An excellent point. I suggest you eat as much as humanly possible today, then, since you will be burning off quite a few more on your return."

"That's a painfully transparent attempt to persuade me not to go," she scolded him, smiling as a warm shiver ran down her spine. "What happened to that famous Slytherin subtlety?"

He gave her a mock-sorrowful look. "I've spent too much time with a certain Gryffindor."

Deciding that such a statement wasn't worth answering, Hermione did her best to ignore him and sorted out her clothes for the day, reluctantly deciding that wearing Luna's jumper would be pushing it. Even so, she wanted to wear something that would remind her of him – aside from her ring, obviously – and found an almost golden blouse in the back of the wardrobe that had green embroidery around the neck and the buttons. If his soft and almost surprised smile was anything to go by, Severus recognised and understood the gesture – or maybe he just appreciated the low neckline and close fit, judging by his body's response. She ignored him even harder, knowing that if she didn't, she really _would _be late. "I'd better go," she said once she was dressed.

"I don't see why," he muttered, and she smiled at him.

"Don't sulk. Tempting as it is to spend all day there with you, I can do that any time –"

"Says who?" he interjected. She continued to ignore him.

"– but I can't see my friends very often. I'll be back this evening. I'm sure you can keep yourself occupied until then."

"Hmph. I would tell you to have fun, but I do not see how that is possible. Lunch with the Weasleys and their myriad in-laws and offspring... I can't imagine anything worse."

"_Goodbye, _Severus," she told him firmly, turning to smile at him from the doorway before letting herself out.

* * *

_Next time, after a bit of festive drama, our hero's birthday is overshadowed by an incident involving his Slytherins.  
_


	21. Chapter 21

_Lots more action in this one. Social reform is a very slow process and not always very happy...__  


* * *

_

**"Histories of ages past  
****Unenlightened shadows cast  
Down through all eternity  
The crying of humanity...****"**  
– Donovan, 'Hurdy Gurdy Man'.

* * *

Things didn't quite go according to plan. _Most _of the day had been absolutely lovely; it had been great to see everyone again, and as always Mrs Weasley's cooking was superb – just as well, given how hungry she was – and the afternoon had been fun. But then everything had fallen apart rather spectacularly, and for no other reason than that they had been asking teasing questions about her mysterious unknown lover and she had told them that he had been in Slytherin. Nobody had taken that news well, and now Hermione was fighting to keep her voice even as she spoke to her Patronus with a message.

"_Severus, it's Hermione. I'm at the Burrow, but I'm in no fit state to Apparate back. If you can, would you come and collect me, please? Thank you._"

"What does the dungeon bat have to do with anything?" Ron asked belligerently as the otter disappeared, and she barely restrained her first angry response, feeling a flash of irritation with his stupidity. She'd done everything but spell out _I Love Severus Snape _in neon lights; how many hints did they _need _before they could work it out? How many intelligent and moody Slytherin half-bloods of that age who had fought in the war had she known once and met again unexpectedly a year and a half ago?

Gritting her teeth, she replied curtly, "As I want to get back to Hogwarts, it would make sense to ask someone _from _Hogwarts to help me, wouldn't it, rather than forcing someone else to make the trip?"

"You're not asking – him?" Ginny asked in a subdued voice.

"When I tell him what happened, he's likely to want to burst in here and start hexing. You don't want him anywhere near here when he finds out. And frankly given everyone's attitude, I don't really want him near you either." Right now it was horribly tempting, actually. None of those here could hope to face Severus and win; the only ones who would even come close were Harry or perhaps Bill, and her Slytherin was more than a match for both of them if he was angry enough to stop playing fair. "I'd better go outside and wait. I doubt Severus will be in a good mood and he certainly won't want to see any of you."

"The feeling's mutual," Ron snapped, and she just barely resisted the urge to slap him.

"Thank you for lunch, Molly," she said evenly. "I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble."

"You haven't, dear," Mrs Weasley assured her instantly. "I apologise for my children. I _had _thought I had taught them better manners," she added in a tone that promised harsh words later.

"We didn't all go mental on hearing the S-word," George protested mildly. "Some of us –"

"Not now, George," his father advised him in an undertone.

Hermione was too upset and angry to smile. She said her goodbyes crisply, glaring at Harry when he tried to say something, and stalked off outside and down to the Apparition point beyond the fence at the bottom of the garden. Shivering as she waited, it occurred to her to wonder whether Severus actually knew where the Burrow was; she was going to look pretty stupid if he didn't. Even if he did, maybe she had asked too much of him; he wouldn't want to face any of the Weasleys, and she knew he would rather drink slow-acting poison than see Harry again. Trying not to dwell on it, she did her best to block out the sound of raised voices coming from inside the house.

After what seemed like hours, there was a sharp _crack _and a familiar dark figure appeared. Looking around warily, he relaxed when he saw that she was the only person in sight, and nodded to her. "My apologies. I would have arrived sooner, but I have not been here since the first war ended, and the Apparition was difficult."

"It's all right. I just want to go home."

He frowned at her tone, his body growing both tense and still. "What has happened?" he asked crisply. "I thought from your message that you had merely overindulged."

"Nothing's happened. Please, can we just go?" she asked.

"Clearly something _has _happened, if you are this upset," he said quietly, in the silken voice that warned her he was getting angry. "What did those fools say this time?"

Hermione sighed wearily. "We were talking about you, indirectly. I told them that my mystery man had been in Slytherin. There was an argument. I lost my temper. And now I can't concentrate well enough to Apparate without splinching. I – _No, _Severus," she snapped, catching his arm and digging her fingers in, belatedly noticing that he was wearing his new coat. "_Don't._"

He glared at her, but he did turn away from the house. "Why not, pray?" he asked in a very dangerous tone of voice.

"Because I don't want bloodshed, and because they might be insensitive prejudiced idiots but they're also my friends and I'd rather they stayed that way. If you go charging in, all hell will break loose, and everything will fall apart. Let it go."

His eyes had turned flat at her words. "Fine," he said shortly, and held out his arm without another word. Obviously he was angry about this, but she really didn't want to argue with him as well, not when the day had started so wonderfully. Taking his arm, she endured the whirling pressure and discomfort of Side-Along, and by the time she had recovered her balance outside the school gates he was already stalking up the drive.

Confused and too tired for this attitude when she wanted his support, she cursed softly and pushed herself to catch up. "What's wrong with you?"

"Why would there be anything wrong?" he replied in a clipped tone.

"I don't _know. _That's why I'm _asking,_" she growled. "You already knew they're all prejudiced against Slytherins. Surely you're used to it by now."

"That isn't – Never mind."

"That's not why you're being like this?" She was starting to get out of breath attempting to keep up with his angry strides. "Then why? Damnit, Severus, stop a minute. Talk to me." He stopped, grudgingly, but he wouldn't look at her. After a long moment his shoulders slumped as the angry tension left him; she frowned, realising that he was upset rather than angry. "Severus?" she asked uncertainly.

He sighed, still not looking at her, and asked very softly, "Are you really that ashamed of me, Hermione?"

That one simple question rocked her back on her heels as the implications slammed into her. The world reeled as she realised why he was so obviously upset, why he had been angry when she wouldn't let him defend her, why she should have chosen her words more carefully when she told him not to go inside, and dozens of other things. "God, Severus, no! Never!"

He glanced at her very briefly and then away again, studying the snowy grounds where they stood. She looked at him; his shoulders were hunched and he was tense, almost as though he was bracing himself for a blow. _Oh, God. _Swallowing, she tried to explain, hoping she wouldn't say the wrong thing; she had hurt him badly today, entirely by accident. "I always planned to tell them about us eventually, but they're not going to take it well. I had hoped that by doing it this way, telling them by degrees and trying to paint a picture of who this man is without running into any of their preconceived notions about you, maybe it would be better."

"I hadn't allowed myself to think about it before," Severus said neutrally, "but... I have nothing to lose from our – association. And you have everything." He was looking at her now, but his face was so completely lacking in any expression that he might as well not have been.

"That's not it," she insisted. "If it comes down to a choice between my friends or you, I'll choose you, every time. But I'm hoping not to have to choose at all. Maybe it's stupid of me – today certainly says so – but I still hope I can persuade them to accept us. Nobody else's opinion matters, not really, but... they're still my friends, and I'd like them to be happy for me. I promise it's not because of you; it's because of their prejudices that I'm having to go so slowly. And I'm certainly not ashamed of you, or of us. I wouldn't be trying so hard to nudge them all in the right direction if I were."

Hermione held her breath, watching him. His self esteem was still appallingly low, even after all this time, and she wasn't sure he would believe her – precisely because he would want her words to be true. Impulsively she offered, "Have a look, if you don't believe me. Use Legilimency."

He tensed, clearly not expecting that. It had caught her by surprise too, actually, but she had meant it – even though she had no idea what he would see in her mind or how it would affect him. She knew how she felt about him, but she also knew what would happen if she said so. "That won't be necessary," he said finally in a rather strained voice. "I believe you." Shivering, he closed his eyes for a moment. "I am being foolish, and you were already upset."

"You weren't being foolish. I can see why you would have thought that. I'm sorry, Severus – I never for a moment meant to make you feel like I was ashamed and wanted to hide this from everyone." She touched his arm hesitantly, feeling the muscles rigid and tense under her hand, and after another painfully long pause she felt him relax and heard him exhale slowly. Cautiously, she added, "Truthfully, I would have thought you would have preferred to keep this private..."

His eyes softened a little, more of the tension draining away. "I do. But you do not, at least as far as your friends are concerned. I had begun to assume that you had not told them because you saw this as a shameful secret. I am relieved to have been mistaken."

She smiled hesitantly at him, equally relieved. "No, I haven't told them because I'm trying to have my cake and eat it," she said wryly. "I know Ron will never accept this, and I don't think Harry will either. The rest of the Weasleys might come around in time, but it won't be easy. Luna already knows; Neville will freak out and probably never speak to me again; the rest of the staff will hate me until the end of time. Putting off telling them isn't going to change any of that, really."

"It's all right. Share what information you feel like sharing, at whatever rate you see fit," he told her quietly. "Now that I know your reasoning, I will endeavour to be less sensitive." One of his quiet almost-smiles warmed his expression. "Although if you post an announcement in the _Prophet _I may lose my temper," he said dryly.

Hermione shuddered theatrically. "I never intended to make this public knowledge. Close friends only. And however appalled they are by the idea, they better not breathe a word to anyone, or _I _will lose my temper."

"A fearsome prospect indeed," he commented, and she smiled, refusing to be baited. She wasn't as powerful as some of her friends, but she was a good fighter when she had to be, and if it came to it she would have an advantage because she would be far more willing to get violent than they would. _Plus I have a Slytherin to defend me._

"I meant what I said when I offered to let you take a look."

"I know you meant it, but I don't like using Legilimency on anyone. It feels like – no, it _is _a form of violation, even when the subject is willing. It is not something I have ever done lightly, and certainly not merely to feed my ego."

She grinned. "You're assuming that what you saw would feed your ego, so I don't think it needs it."

He snorted in response, giving her an amused look, and just like that the mood was broken and the incident was resolved. The lack of tension gave her a chance to appreciate his appearance; the leather jacket looked every bit as she had hoped it would. Apparently he liked his present.

"Stop ogling me, Professor Granger. Whatever would the students think?"

"They'd be wondering why Professor Snape looks so good," she replied mildly. "I doubt they'd notice I was here if they could see you like this."

The corners of his dark eyes crinkled in quiet amusement. "I thought my ego didn't need feeding."

"Fine, I won't say anything nice in future," she huffed in mock indignation, smiling and taking his arm companionably as they walked back towards the castle. "In case you were wondering, there was another reason I didn't let you confront them," she added thoughtfully.

"Which was?"

"It wouldn't have been fair to them. Really, Severus, can't you pick on someone your own size?"

He laughed at that, shaking his head. "But then I might not win."

"Sneaky Slytherin bastard."

"Insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all."

* * *

The rest of the holiday passed far more pleasantly, especially since owls couldn't easily linger around Hogwarts to wait for replies to messages to members of staff; Hermione's post was transferred from the Owlery by house-elf to her quarters and could therefore be safely ignored. The pile of attempts at apologies was quite impressive by the time she finally sat down to go through it, a process which was somewhat hindered by Severus standing behind her, reading over her shoulder and making sarcastic comments. There were several unflattering references to him in some of the notes, offered as an attempt to explain the prejudice against Slytherins.

In the end she sent copies of a generic reply to everyone, informing them caustically that she was happy, she didn't really care whether they were or not, she didn't need their approval, and insulting her friend in an attempt to justify insulting her lover wasn't exactly the best way to apologise; and yes, that does mean you, Ronald, and you, Harry. Once that was done, she considered the matter closed, at least for now.

Eventually she was going to have to tell them the full truth – she was running out of hints – but that could wait. Once the New Year was past, it would be Severus' birthday, and after that she was going to start trying to build bridges with her parents; after _that_ things would be quieter and she could concentrate on more personal issues. She would need time to plan a campaign anyway, because if something went wrong it would be a disaster – the last thing she wanted or needed was for someone to overreact and blurt out the news where the wrong people could overhear. It could wait.

The New Year passed far more successfully than the previous year. She had informed her colleagues that she was spending it with her man and escaped to the dungeons quite early in the evening; Severus didn't get drunk this time, at least no more than she did since she had brought champagne with her, and was in a vastly better and more positive mood (not that that would have been terribly difficult, given just how depressed he had been last year). Their private celebration started with an alcohol-fuelled kiss at midnight and ended several hours later with the sleepy discovery that spilled champagne tended to stain sheets when the drinkers were only paying attention to cleaning up what had been spilled on one another's skin. Next day's hangover seemed well worth the price – and hangovers weren't much of a problem when you lived with a Potions Master.

"So what's your New Year's resolution?" Hermione asked him lazily that afternoon, when they were both finally clean and sober and actually out of bed.

"To have Azkaban renamed to the House of the Rising Sun," he replied sarcastically, idly stirring up the fire. "Since nobody ever keeps their resolutions, you might as well make utterly ridiculous ones in the first place."

Stifling a laugh, she shook her head at him. "You're terrible. You've never made a serious resolution?"

"No – not at the New Year, anyway. If I know I need to do something, I do it, or find a way to avoid it. The time of year doesn't matter."

"Fair point," she conceded.

"Did you make any?"

She grinned mischievously at him. "To continue the year the way we started it."

Severus smirked. "Now, _that _one might be possible to keep. In fact, I can virtually guarantee it."

* * *

She had made plans for Severus' birthday, but never got a chance to put them into action. They were both woken before dawn by someone hammering on the door of his office; he hastily threw on his robe and went to investigate. Hermione listened to the distant voices, unable to hear what they were saying until she heard Severus exclaim, "_What?_" More voices, his voice and a higher tone that presumably belonged to a student, and he slammed back into the bedroom a moment later with his eyes blazing to rapidly pull on his clothes.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No time. Tell you later," he growled, looking absolutely furious and on the edge of murder, and swept out the instant he was dressed, leaving a faint trace of magic in the air behind him as his control frayed.

Unfortunately he had a full day of teaching, so 'later' was going to be very much later. She saw him only once all day, when he stalked into the staff room to collect some papers, and one glance at his thunderous expression told her very clearly that he was in an unbelievably foul mood; she could all but see the air boiling around him and the atmosphere was suddenly chokingly oppressive. He didn't look at her, and slammed the door on his way out so hard that the walls shook. Whatever had happened, he obviously hadn't taken it very well; she wasn't sure she had ever seen him so angry, not even when the Marauders had been involved.

"Anyone know what's going on?" she asked nobody in particular, but the other members of staff in the room looked as puzzled as she was.

Once his last class was over, she hoped he would return to the dungeons, but when she looked at the Marauder's Map he was in Minerva's office with her. That was very strange. Biting her lip, Hermione went in search of someone who might know what had happened, exploring the passages immediately around the dungeons in hopes of finding the Bloody Baron before widening her search. Finally she saw a familiar figure and jogged swiftly down the corridor towards him. "Nick!"

The Gryffindor ghost turned and smiled, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hermione, a pleasure to see you. Were you seeking me?"

"I was looking for one of the ghosts. Do you know what happened this morning?"

"This morning?"

"A student came to see Severus before dawn," she explained in an undertone. "He's been in a murderous mood all day according to rumour, and now he's holed up with Minerva in her office. What's happened?"

Nick looked grave – more so than usual, at least. "A bad business," he murmured solemnly, "a very bad business. A black mark against Gryffindor's good name."

"Sir Nicholas, no riddles please. What _happened?_"

He shook his head sadly, almost dislodging it from his neck before he recovered. "Three Gryffindor fifth-years cornered a Slytherin second-year in the lavatories on the second floor early this morning," he said quietly. "Myrtle saw what happened. They..." He sighed insubstantially. "They pinned the girl down and drew on her arm with some sort of Muggle pen that won't wash off."

"Drew on her – oh, Merlin!" Horror filled her. "You don't mean they drew the Dark Mark, Nick?"

"They did," he confirmed sombrely. "Myrtle told the Baron, who roused the Slytherins. Several of them went to the girl's rescue whilst another came to Professor Snape to inform him of what was happening. There were a number of unpleasant hexes used – the second year is in the hospital wing sleeping off hysterics, whilst two of her tormentors and one of her erstwhile saviours are undergoing treatment. Peeves told me that the Headmaster – Professor Snape, I mean – is battling with the Headmistress over who should be punished."

"Oh, bloody hellfire. No wonder he was so angry." Hermione bit her lip. "I need to know what's going on..."

"The portraits and us ghosts are bound not to reveal anything said within the Head's office," Nick said apologetically. "I suggest you visit the hospital wing and wait; I imagine Professor Snape will be there when his meeting is concluded."

"Okay. Thank you for telling me, Nick."

* * *

The victim was still unconscious; Madam Pomfrey had been forced to give her a very powerful sleeping draught, because nothing else had come close to calming her hysteria, and the Mark on her arm wouldn't come off with a charm or with more mundane methods – the matron didn't know how they had made it permanent. The two Gryffindor casualties were a mess, having been hit with what looked like an impressive variety of hexes and jinxes; Hermione was surprised to find that the Slytherin patient was none other than Timothy, the third year with such jaded eyes who had spoken with her twice when Severus had been away. Those old eyes were blackened and a little swollen now, but he seemed surprisingly cheerful when she spoke to him and assured her confidently if indistinctly that, "it'll be okay, because Professor Snape will sort 'em out."

"Hasn't Professor Snape managed to teach you to choose your battles?" Hermione asked him in some amusement – she liked the boy, and he was one of the only two Slytherins so far to have chosen Muggle Studies as an option. "Your face looks like you lost a fight with a wall."

"I fell down the stairs, Professor Granger," he replied innocently, before adding, "but the stairs deserved the attempt."

"That isn't for you to decide," she rebuked him gently.

"Mr Alton has some impulse-control problems," a familiar voice drawled softly from the doorway. "One wonders at times why he was not Sorted into Gryffindor." She turned with a smile to see a very tired-looking Severus leaning against the doorframe; his earlier anger seemed to have yielded to weariness.

"Gryffindor wouldn't have me, sir," Timothy replied cheekily, wriggling into a sitting position with care for the broken arm in its sling across his chest.

"Mind your tongue," Severus replied absently, with no emphasis behind the words. "Professor Granger, a word, if you please."

She followed him out of the room into the quiet of the main Infirmary. "Nick told me what happened," she said in an undertone. "What has Minerva decided?"

Sparks of absolute rage kindled in his black eyes. "I'll give you three guesses. And the first two don't count."

"Oh, God, Severus. She's not letting this go unpunished?"

"Not entirely," he muttered, his lip curling. "All those involved will receive detention, including the Slytherins." The bitterness in his voice was unmistakeable; for Severus, this was an all too familiar story. He continued, "The only concession that I managed to wring from her – with the assistance of the portraits – was that the Gryffindor detentions will be with me, but only if another member of staff is present to ensure that I don't kill the brats."

"I'll do it," she said instantly, and his eyes softened.

"Thank you. I was going to ask you. And thank you for coming to see to my Slytherins."

"Who says that's why I'm here?" she asked innocently, and he almost smiled.

"Mr Alton's face will mend in time, I am informed," he remarked. "The other members of the rescue party were sixth and seventh years, who escaped relatively unscathed."

"I like Timothy."

"I imagine you would. He'll go far, if he doesn't kill himself first. I have prepared a solvent to remove the pen on Miss Hampton's arm; she will be awake soon and I must speak with her before she returns to the care of her House. I have already spoken to my Slytherins and assigned the necessary detentions, with the exception of the young bandaged lion in the room behind us. All that remains is the three perpetrators."

"When is their detention?"

"Tonight. In about an hour, to be precise."

She felt a flicker of disappointment; so much for her plans for the evening. "They'll miss dinner. So will you, come to that."

"I can't see any of us wanting to eat anything once this is done."

"Do you know what you are going to do?" she asked softly, not much liking the anger in his eyes.

He nodded grimly. "Yes," he replied shortly, without elaborating any further.

* * *

"You look tired, Severus," she told him softly as they left the infirmary a short while later and began the long walk down to the dungeons.

"I am tired," he replied wearily. "I've been fighting this same battle for almost forty years, and I've made no progress at all."

"Your House have faith in you. I saw that when you were away."

"Their faith may be misplaced. I cannot win this fight. All I can do is give three stupid girls detention, and tell my Slytherins to be more cautious."

"You're trying. That's what's important. You know how bad it feels to know that nobody is on your side; thanks to you, they don't have to feel the same way."

He didn't answer, but after a moment he touched her hand briefly. They said nothing further until the door to his quarters had closed behind them, when Hermione sighed and looked at him. "I can't really wish you a happy birthday without feeling a bit stupid, given how successful today has been," she observed wryly.

One side of his mouth twitched into a slightly bitter half smile. "I appreciate the thought, nonetheless." He snorted softly. "I feel every single one of my fifty years, tonight."

"I can imagine. Here..." She held out the small box to him. "Happy birthday. Stupid or not."

"Is there any point in my telling you that you didn't need to get me anything?" he asked, accepting it.

"None whatsoever, since I am already aware of that," she replied mildly, watching his face as he unwrapped the little box and saw the ring inside. Solid silver, it was deeply engraved with black letters, and she watched him trace the Latin words with a fingertip.

"Where did you find this?" he asked after a long moment, staring down at it.

She smiled and said pointedly, "On a market stall in Camden."

His eyes flickered to hers, then away. "Ah." He sounded almost embarrassed, and she smiled triumphantly. _I knew it. _She had suspected for a long time that her otter ring had actually been custom made at great expense; it was nice to have it confirmed – and it made her feel better about the amount of money she had spent on this. "_Ad Finem Fidelis,_" he whispered, to himself rather than her.

"'Faithful until the end'," she translated softly – not that he needed the translation. "I thought it appropriate."

In the past, he had always carefully put away whatever gift she had given him, and only put it on later when he was alone. Not this time; he stared at the ring for a few minutes, turning it over slowly in his hands, before carefully sliding it onto the ring finger of his right hand and taking out his wand to size it to the perfect fit and ensure that it would not come off by accident. Once that was done, he studied it, his black eyes unreadable, before looking at her. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly, his tone and expression making it clear that he wasn't only talking about the gift.

"You are more than welcome, Severus," she replied softly, smiling at him.

After a long moment of silence his expression darkened and he sighed. "I need to prepare for this," he said reluctantly, opening the door and moving into his office. "You're not going to like what I'm about to do."

"Don't tell me, then. I trust you, Severus," she replied simply. "Let me know when you're ready."

* * *

When the knock came, Severus was seated behind his desk, ostensibly doing paperwork, and Hermione had taken a seat in the corner with a book. "Enter," he said crisply without looking up, and Minerva escorted the three nervous and defiant girls into the room.

"Professor Snape. The students are here for their detention," the Headmistress said quietly. "Did you find another member of staff to observe?"

"Professor Granger has agreed to do so," he replied, putting his work aside and straightening up as he regarded the three students levelly.

"Very well; I shall leave you to it. Don't keep them too late; they have classes in the morning."

Once the door had closed behind her, Severus sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking slowly from one apprehensive face to the next in total silence. Hermione well remembered how effective that particular tactic was; but it was hard to be sympathetic when she recalled the terrified little girl sobbing into Severus' shoulder only an hour before as the solvent he had made finally began to remove the ink from her arm. He allowed the silence to drag out for several minutes before speaking, his voice soft and dangerously silken.

"Before we begin, do any of you wish to say anything?"

Very unwisely, one of them – presumably the ringleader – actually answered him. "It – it was just a joke, sir."

"A joke," he repeated coldly, and Hermione tried not to wince. How many times had the Marauders successfully justified their flagrant cruelty to Severus with the exact same defence? "Your 'joke' has caused two members of Slytherin to be kept overnight in the hospital wing for observation and caused a twelve year old girl considerable pain and distress. Fortunately for the three of you, I do not believe there to be any true malice behind your actions," he continued unexpectedly. "You clearly do not understand the significance of what you have done. That is what we are here to address."

Very slowly and deliberately, he unfastened his left cuff and rolled back the sleeve of his robe, and then the sleeve of his shirt, making sure each movement held their attention. The Dark Mark stood out against his pale skin, even as faded as it was; he extended his arm, and all three girls stared at it in wide-eyed fascination and absolute horror.

He looked to one of them. "Miss Brooks. You are Muggleborn, I believe?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Do you have grandparents or great-grandparents who served in the Second World War?"

"Sir?" she asked, confused.

"It is a very simple question."

"My great-grandfather was in the trenches, sir," she whispered.

"Then here is an analogy for you, although it is not a perfect one. What you have done to Miss Hampton is not dissimilar to the Nazis branding prisoners of war in the concentration camps. It is perhaps comparable to holding down a Jewish child and drawing the swastika on his forehead." His voice was cold steel now, and all three girls flinched; the one he was addressing went white. "Miss Gibbs, Miss Quarterhouse – you are both pureblood, I understand?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Yes, sir."

Severus regarded them without expression. "Miss Hampton's family were not Death Eaters. She has no close relatives who were. I assure you, I know this personally. Let me tell you something, both of you – every single pureblood family has distant relatives who served the Dark Lord. _Every. Single. One._ Including both of yours. Perhaps those relatives were very distant, fourth or fifth cousins; perhaps they never took the Mark and became full Death Eaters; but every single pureblood witch or wizard and most half-bloods have blood ties to followers of the Dark Lord. _Regardless of which House they are in. _In fact, one of the most infamous Death Eaters was a Gryffindor; his name was Peter Pettigrew, and it is thanks to him that Harry Potter grew up an orphan and thanks to him that the Dark Lord was able to return for the second war."

He took a breath; his dark eyes were devoid of anything at all, dead and cold and profoundly intimidating, if not downright terrifying. For the first time in a long while, Hermione saw the teacher she and her friends had once feared, rather than the man she had come to know. "Now, to your detention. On the desk before me is a Pensieve; I am sure all three of you are familiar with its use. Within it are certain carefully selected memories which you will see. Once all three of you have watched all the memories, you may leave."

"That's it?" blurted out the girl who had said it was just a joke – Miss Gibbs; Hermione didn't teach any of these girls and didn't recall their first names.

His expression was grim. "That's it. You may go first, since you seem to think this is so easy. Do not attempt to pull away before you have seen everything; you will not like it if I have to force you to watch." He sat back and watched coldly as the bewildered girl approached the Pensieve and bent over it.

Hermione had no idea what memories Severus had placed in there, but clearly they weren't pleasant. By the time Miss Gibbs surfaced, she was bloodlessly pale and crying almost hysterically, shaking her head and whispering over and over, "No... It wasn't like that..."

Ignoring her completely, Severus looked at the next student. "Miss Brooks. Your turn."

This reaction was even worse; the girl was almost green when she staggered back from the Pensieve. Severus pointed wordlessly to a basin on the floor nearby with the arm that bore the Mark, and she sagged down beside it and started retching.

The Potions master's gaze was utterly without pity as he looked at the last of the three, who was watching her friends fearfully. "Miss Quarterhouse."

"Sir... Please..."

His voice cracked like a whip. "Do it. Or I will make you."

Pale and trembling, she did as she was told. She looked on the verge of fainting when she drew back at last, sobbing, and Hermione wondered whether she should interfere; as though he sensed it, Severus caught her eye and shook his head fractionally. She stayed where she was, watching silently as the three girls clung to one another and wept.

"Enough," Severus snapped. None of them could stop crying, but they at least made the effort, lining up raggedly in front of the desk. He stood up and regarded the three of them coldly and without mercy. "I will be writing to your families tonight telling them exactly what has occurred today, and as far as official punishment is concerned that will be the end of the matter."

He slowly paced around the desk and stood in front of them, staring down at them with an expression of utter and icy contempt. "What you did this morning was absolutely despicable," he said quietly. "You have disgraced your families and your House and betrayed everything we fought for, bled for and died for during the war. I trust that you understand that now."

Taking a deep breath, he folded his arms across his chest and delivered his final shot. "Were the Dark Lord standing here now, he would laugh at your little 'joke' and think it a fine thing. He would be impressed. Now _get out of my sight._"

* * *

He remained standing impassively watching their departure until the door closed behind them; then he sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut and turned away, moving unsteadily back around the desk and collapsing into his chair before leaning forward and burying his head in his hands.

Hermione stood and moved towards him uncertainly. "Severus?" she asked softly.

His voice was indistinct as he answered, "I warned you that you wouldn't like it."

"Are you all right?"

There was a pause before he replied flatly, "No." She heard him draw a ragged breath. "Contrary to the belief of almost all my students and colleagues, I do not enjoy making children cry. I have had more than enough of that to last for several lifetimes." Slowly he lowered his hands and stared at her through tormented eyes, and the pain in their black depths almost broke her heart.

"Oh, my Severus," she whispered, reaching out and wrapping her arms around him; he turned in his chair and buried his face in her robe, shivering. She didn't think he was actually crying, but he was certainly close to it, and all she could offer by way of comfort was to stroke what she could reach of his hair and his shoulders before leaning down and kissing the top of his head.

"I hated every second of that," he mumbled indistinctly.

"I know, my dear, I know," she murmured, blinking rapidly to hold back her own tears. "It had to be done. I'm sorry it had to be you, when you've been through so much. But it's over now, and no student will ever try something so brutal again."

He made a choked sound, his arms tightening around her waist. "True." Gradually his trembling slowed and stopped, and finally he relaxed a little, leaning against her rather than clinging to her. "Did Sir Nicholas come to find you?"

"No, I went to find one of the ghosts," she explained. "You said they were your allies, so I assumed they would know what had happened, or be able to find out if they didn't. He couldn't tell me what was happening in Minerva's office or how long you'd be, so I went to the hospital wing to check on the Slytherins and wait for you."

"Thank you." He had drawn away now to look up at her; his eyes were dry, although he still looked justifiably unhappy. Rubbing his face wearily, he turned his attention to his office, silently cleaning up before starting to retrieve the memories from the Pensieve and replace them.

"What did you show them?" Hermione asked softly.

"Nothing I want you to see," he replied instantly. He sighed. "Nothing I ever wanted anyone to see." After a moment he explained quietly, "They were memories that showed the significance of the Dark Mark. There were carefully-edited memories of new recruits being branded – the full memory of that process would have been too much, even if I was willing to share the worst details, which I am not. The Dark Lord teaching us how to cast it when we killed; murder scenes with the Mark in the sky above; Bellatrix, carving the Mark into the flesh of some of her victims." He hesitated, staring down at his arm, and traced a scar that ran behind the Mark. "The night I got drunk and did this, trying to damage the Mark, when I gashed my arm clear to the bone and saw that it went right the way down."

"I see."

"You don't approve."

"No, but nor do you, and it was your idea." She reached out and touched his cheek gently. "It was necessary. They understand what they did, now. And many would say they got off lightly."

"_Abyssus abyssum invocat,_" he muttered. "Hell invokes Hell."

"What does that mean?"

"Colloquially, two wrongs do not make a right."

"No. But this was the lesser wrong."

"And what would have been the greater?" he asked softly.

"Doing nothing," she replied quietly, meeting his eyes and holding them. "Not acting to defend your Slytherins. Letting what happened to you be repeated throughout another generation. That would have been worse."

He took a deep breath, a little life creeping back into his eyes as he drew some sort of strength from her words. "Yes. Thank you."

She didn't get a chance to reply as the door slammed open and an angry Minerva McGonagall stormed in, her eyes blazing. "Snape, what did you do to those girls?"

Severus' usual impassive mask fell over his face with disturbing speed, and his eyes were expressionless as he turned from Hermione and regarded his employer. "I explained to them what they had done," he replied coolly.

"And that is why all three of them are in the hospital wing being treated for hysteria?"

He looked angry. "They should not receive treatment. There is nothing wrong with them but the usual Gryffindor ailments of gross stupidity and a dislike of well-deserved punishment."

"Snape –"

Hermione intervened. "I was here the entire time, Minerva. Severus did nothing to harm them. In fact, he wasn't as harsh as they deserved."

Minerva looked appalled. "How can you say that?"

Suddenly Hermione felt sick with sheer rage. Taking a step forward, she met the older woman's eyes squarely and snarled, "Three sixteen year olds cornered a twelve year old, held her down and drew Voldemort's Dark Mark on her arm. They spat on her and called her a Death Eater, and they laughed about it. They attacked a thirteen year old boy when he came to try and rescue her – from his injuries I'd say he was slammed face first into a sink. I think it's disgusting that they only received a detention for that, and I applaud Severus for his restraint, especially after seeing Miss Hampton's emotional state."

The Headmistress looked like she had been slapped, but Severus' eyes glowed with something dark and fierce. Hermione took a deep breath and said more calmly, "Severus showed them some memories in a Pensieve that explained the true significance of the Dark Mark, so that they would fully understand what they had done. Nothing more."

"Poppy informs me that they are unable to stop crying..." Minerva said weakly.

"They _should _cry," Hermione answered tiredly as her anger drained away. "What they did was despicable and inexcusable. I think the fact that our children can treat something like this so lightly only a decade after the war ended is worth crying over; don't you?"

Slowly, the older woman nodded. "You may have a point."

Severus said quietly, "This was our fault. Those girls had no idea what they had done; that is why the realisation has hit them so hard. We have not taught them as we should." He took a breath. "Headmistress, if I might make a suggestion?"

"Yes?" she replied automatically.

"This is not the time for an in-depth discussion, but at some point soon I would like to meet with you to propose some changes. I have one or two ideas that may be of use."

"I – Very well, Severus. We will discuss it soon." The Headmistress looked shaken. "Did you see the memories, Hermione?"

"Yes," she lied firmly. "Nothing will give them nightmares save their own guilt." She didn't know that for certain, but Severus hadn't done this lightly, and he wouldn't have shown them anything truly bloody without good reason. She trusted him enough to lie to Minerva for him.

Minerva sighed. "Very well, then. I shall let this go. I shall talk to you this Sunday if you are free." She turned to leave and was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Minerva," Severus said quietly. "You need to remember that you are no longer Head of Gryffindor, but Head of Hogwarts."

"_What _did you just say, Snape?"

He held up his hands. "I do not wish to have a battle tonight. But... why were _you _escorting those three to their detention? Professor Longbottom is their Head of House. Not you. He should have brought them here, and he is the one who should be here now." He sighed, looking tired. "There were four children in the Infirmary when you visited earlier today. I am only responsible for two of them. Longbottom is responsible for two of them. You are responsible for all four of them. Did you even speak to Miss Hampton or Mr Alton? Do you even know how badly he was injured or how traumatised she is?" He rubbed his eyes. "I am sorry to bring this up now. I am tired, and I am not thinking clearly. But I do not want any child under my care to end up the way I did."

There was a very long and very uncomfortable silence before Minerva wordlessly left the room, shutting the door behind her a little more firmly than strictly necessary.

"That went well," Hermione observed.

He snorted softly, resting his elbows on the desk and cradling his head in his hands. "It did indeed. This was a very poor time to pick that particular fight."

"You've wanted to say that to her for a while."

"Since I rejoined the faculty. I'm not blind, Hermione, and I'm sure you realise why I spend some of my precious free time in the staff room."

"I do. And you aren't wrong. Part of the problem is that Neville's not always the most assertive person, and part of him still sees Minerva as his Head of House. He's been conditioned to do what she says, so he doesn't stand up to her as he should."

"I know," he replied wearily. "It's a mess. And it's only going to get worse."

"What do you mean, Severus?"

He hesitated, before shaking his head. "Not tonight. I'm tired and miserable and I've got a splitting headache. We'll put the world to rights another time." He gave her a wry smile. "This is a hell of a way to celebrate half a century."

"True," she said softly. "Come on. Take some headache relief, pour yourself a drink and have a hot bath. I'll organise some food." After a moment she smiled at him. "And I've actually got you a birthday cake."

He blinked. "You are joking."

"Nope," she told him gleefully. "It's even got candles on it."

His lips twitched as he fought not to smile. "Of course it does. You are completely and utterly insane, woman."

"I must be, to put up with you," she told him fondly, holding out a hand to him. He took it and allowed her to draw him to his feet, following her through the door to his private quarters and kicking it shut behind him.

* * *

Stubborn as ever, Severus insisted on writing to the families of all the students involved in that morning's incident and sending the letters on their way before he would relax, but once that was done he obeyed her instructions. He almost fell asleep in the bath, but by the time he surfaced his headache had gone and he looked far more like his usual self.

As they ate, he asked mildly, "Why was Crookshanks in there with me?"

Hermione smiled. "He had instructions not to let you start brooding, even if he had to scratch you to bring you out of it."

"Typical," he murmured, shaking his head. "I'd like to remind you both that these are _my _rooms. And technically, I outrank you."

"How is that relevant?" she asked innocently, and he smiled slightly, not bothering to answer. He was in one of his quiet, almost pensive moods; it took her a few minutes to realise that he was turning his hand to watch the candlelight reflecting off his new ring.

When she somewhat sheepishly produced the promised birthday cake, he started laughing. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Black forest," she confirmed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's _your _favourite, rather than mine..."

"One, I don't really believe that's true, not after your reaction in Cambridge," she retorted, "and two, your ostensible favourite is ginger cake, which is nice enough in its way but you can't have it as a birthday cake."

"And why not, pray?"

"Because it's your _birthday, _Severus, and you're supposed to ingest enough sugar to bring on a diabetic coma."

"This, from the dentist's daughter?"

She mock-scowled at him, pleased to find that the reference didn't hurt, and retorted, "If you keep arguing with me, I won't let you have any."

"You're going to eat a full black forest gateau by yourself? That really would bring on a diabetic coma, if you weren't violently ill first."

"Severus Snape, you're going to make me angry in a minute," she told him as sternly as she could manage. "Now stop arguing, close your eyes and make a wish, and blow your candles out."

His lips twitched and she could see the humour in his eyes, but he obediently turned his attention to the cake and considered thoughtfully for a long moment before blowing out the candles. It was quite possible he'd even made a wish, Hermione realised; this was likely to be the first time he'd ever actually had a birthday cake, since from what she knew of his parents she doubted they would have bothered and she couldn't imagine him accepting such a gesture from anyone else once his childhood had been left behind.

"You actually spelled out _50 _in candles," he commented softly as he cut a generous slice for them to share.

She grinned and picked up her fork. "I couldn't fit fifty candles on the cake."

"Ouch. Be careful with an old man's pride." He took a bite, his eyes closing for a moment as he made a faint sound of approval.

"Bah, don't be so sensitive. It's unbecoming in a man of your age." The flavour exploded on her tongue and she closed her eyes, savouring it. By the time she had swallowed and opened her eyes again, he was smirking at her in open amusement, but he said nothing as he took another bite.

The cake finished, she sat back with a contented sigh. "Now tell me you'd rather have had _ginger cake _than that."

His dark, deep eyes reflected the candlelight as he looked at her. "You have chocolate on your lip," he observed very softly.

Hermione smiled slowly at him and lifted a fingertip to the corner of her mouth. "Here?"

Warmth crept into his gaze. "No..."

"Here?" she suggested.

Severus smiled equally slowly at her. "No." Standing, he leaned in close, and she closed her eyes as he kissed the opposite corner of her mouth. "Here. And... here," he murmured, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. "And..." He stopped talking, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek gently as he kissed her. Moving slowly so she didn't have to break the kiss, she stood up, reaching up to twine her fingers through his slightly damp hair as she stepped into his embrace.

Their lovemaking was slow and gentle, no teasing, no playful struggles for dominance, only intense mutual pleasure. Afterwards she lay in the circle of his arms, the bedroom so quiet that she could hear his heartbeat where her head rested on his chest. "My Severus," she murmured softly. "Your whole day should have been like this."

He chuckled sleepily. "I doubt I would have survived it," he answered, before sighing and turning his head to rest his cheek against her hair. "Today was... hard," he admitted, "but... not all of it. You helped me to protect and care for my Slytherins, Hermione. That means a great deal, both to me and to them. You understood why I acted as I did, and supported me, defended me. I'm not sure you realise how rare that is... or how important. And on a less personal note, it has given me enough leverage that I can perhaps persuade Minerva to listen to me and implement some necessary changes." He nuzzled closer, his arms tightening a little, before he moved his hand to her shoulder; she realised he was looking at his ring again.

Very, very quietly, he said, "Today I saw a glimpse of what my whole life could have been like, had I not had to face it alone. I cannot hope to tell you just what that means to me; but I think you know, or can at least guess."

Concentrating on her breathing, Hermione closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. "Yes," she answered equally quietly.

Warm silence surrounded the two of them, and she was almost asleep before Severus spoke again in a muted whisper that she barely heard. "Thank you, my Hermione."

She didn't answer him, but she was smiling as she fell asleep.

* * *

_Unlike Hermione's, Severus' ring sadly does not really exist. Next chapter is quite an important one...  
_


	22. Chapter 22

_Well, last chapter brought the reviewers out of the woodwork... I wonder if this one will do the same?__  


* * *

_

**"****It is not the criminal things which are hardest to confess, but those things of which we are ashamed**.**"**  
– Rousseau.

* * *

When she woke in the middle of the night, Hermione could feel him trembling. Listening to his unsteady breathing, she realised that he was crying – not the slow, oddly peaceful tears that happened regularly in his sleep; he was awake, he was weeping, and he was trying very hard not to. Silently she wrapped her arms around him more tightly and gently kissed his chest – about the only part of him she could reach without moving – and realised that he was truly hurting when he clung to her instead of pulling away.

"You're thinking about when you were Headmaster, aren't you?" she asked softly, and felt him nod as he struggled for control.

"It was – worse than anything else," he said hoarsely, his breath hitching for a moment. "Even – even killing took less out of me. I swore to protect the students, and I – I didn't, I couldn't. Instead, I..." He groaned softly, a tortured sound, and shuddered violently. "You know what I did. Some of your friends still have scars. I tortured them, I betrayed them, and I allowed others to harm them. I was a victim myself, I knew exactly what I was inflicting on them, and I did it anyway."

"I know, Severus," she said softly, easing out of his arms just far enough to look at him. His eyes were blank with horror and she strongly suspected he was watching those memories, that he couldn't actually see her at the moment. She wasn't sure he could hear her, either, but she kept talking anyway. "It was the only way. I've talked to Luna, and Ginny and Neville to some extent. They understand. And I know you did what you could to block the worst of it – you tried to give more benign punishments, you never put your full force behind the curses, you didn't let the Carrows go too far, you even tampered with memories when you could. It wasn't enough, but it was more than you had to do. It could have been worse. That doesn't make it right, but if you had tried to defy the Dark Lord about it he would have killed you and then everything would have been for nothing. _Listen _to me, Severus."

Pulling away from him, she sat up and tangled her fingers in his hair, forcibly dragging his head around and making him look at her. For a moment he panicked, reflexively reaching for his wand, before his eyes cleared and he stared at her numbly. She held his gaze fiercely. "You are not a bad man. You are a good man who was forced to do a lot of bad things. There is a great deal of difference."

He looked away, as much as he could when she held his head still. "I know that, intellectually," he said wearily, sounding more like his usual self. "But I don't _feel _it. I never have." He sighed, looking utterly drained, and rubbed his eyes. "It's all psychological, I know that. I've done a lot of reading over the years, trying to be my own doctor. Post-traumatic stress disorder; _complex _post-traumatic stress disorder; post-traumatic embitterment disorder – that one might as well have been named after me. Knowing the reasons and recognising the symptoms doesn't really change anything."

Deeply troubled, Hermione let go of his hair and allowed him to roll over, watching as he curled up around his pillow with his back to her. Biting her lip, she thought furiously, and a sudden mad inspiration struck her. "Severus, you're overlooking something."

"Oh?" he asked dully. "And what might that be?"

"Do you think the Carrows lost so much as a second of sleep between them over what they did? Do you think Bellatrix Lestrange spared a thought for any of her victims? Do you think the Dark Lord had anything approaching a moment of conscience in his entire life? The mere fact that you're worrying about this at all proves that you're not like them."

Severus stiffened; she saw the tension in the play of muscles under the dreadfully scarred skin of his back. He seemed to have stopped breathing, and she could all but hear his mind racing furiously. The silence dragged out for some time before she actually heard him exhale. Very slowly, muscle by muscle, his thin frame began to relax, but it was several more minutes before he said in a muffled voice, "You really are the brightest witch of your generation."

If she hadn't already been lying down, Hermione would have collapsed in sheer relief. "Not really," she managed to say lightly. "I just look at things in a different way. If this was someone else and wasn't hurting you too badly to let you think it through, you'd have realised the same thing."

He growled indistinctly, "For once in your life, will you take an honest compliment?"

"From a Slytherin?" she asked innocently. "You've taught me better than that."

That brought a smothered sound that might have been laughter, before he moved and said in a very different tone of voice, "Crookshanks, what – Get off me!"

"What's he doing?"

"He's – licking my face! Get away from me, you stupid cat!"

Hermione started giggling helplessly. "He does that to me when I've been crying," she managed. "It's the salt, I suppose. Or he thinks that's how you stop tears. It usually works – by the time you've got him to stop, you're not upset any more."

"You're both completely insane," he snapped huffily, disentangling himself from their bedding and stalking off towards the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances – which wasn't much, given that he was stark naked and had just been crying rather adorably. Crookshanks blinked smugly at his mistress, and started to purr.

"Good boy," she whispered to the cat, reaching out to stroke him. "Your timing was perfect, as always. Next time I go food shopping, I'm buying you smoked salmon." _The world's first half-Kneazle psychotherapist.

* * *

_The following day proved to be long and tiring. The school was filled with conflicting rumours; the three Gryffindors were not in lessons, nor were their Slytherin victims. The older Slytherins who had gone to the rescue were keeping very quiet and refused to say what had happened; Hermione saw them at lunchtime, sitting in a knot and mistrustfully watching one another's backs. The whole of Slytherin House were very silent, and very angry; Gryffindor were equally silent, and ashamed; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were simply confused.

Severus was present at lunchtime, although he didn't eat anything, keeping a watchful eye on his students and pointedly ignoring both the Gryffindors and his fellow staff members as well as all the whispers and glances. Once his afternoon classes were done – both Gryffindor and Slytherin had lost a lot of points by the time lessons were over for the day – he spent much of the evening in Slytherin Tower with his House; Hermione went to talk at length with Neville.

As a direct result of that conversation, she elbowed the Herbology professor and gave him a pointed stare when Severus entered the staff room, looking tired and irritable. Neville gave her a pleading look before swallowing hard and squaring his shoulders. "Professor Snape?" he asked, managing with a heroic effort not to stammer.

Severus turned, scowling fiercely; Hermione caught his eye and glared at him warningly. Blinking at her, he softened his expression fractionally and replied in a passably civil tone. "Yes?"

"I wished to apologise for the harm done to your students by my House."

Severus couldn't have been more shocked if Neville had challenged him to a duel, Hermione suspected, although nobody else in the room would have seen it. She was used to his usual expressionless demeanour and could read the tiny, subtle signs – the dilation of his pupils (difficult to see with his dark eyes), the faint tension in his shoulders, the slight arch of one eyebrow, the hesitation before he answered. "Your apology is not necessary, Professor Longbottom," he replied politely. "The matter has been dealt with." He gave Neville a speculative look before inclining his head – slightly – and collecting the papers he had actually come in for, turning neatly on his heel and departing as swiftly as he had entered.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Hermione told her friend as they left a little later. "I told you he wouldn't blame you."

"I don't think he's ever called me _Professor _before," Neville said, looking a little shaken.

"You've never acted like one before, Neville," she said as kindly as possible. "Not to him. When he's in the room you turn into a stammering student again."

"I can't help it, 'Mione."

"Don't talk rubbish," she said briskly, stopping outside the door to her rooms. "You faced Voldemort without flinching, you fool. Severus is wonderfully intimidating, I admit, but he's hardly in the same league."

Neville sighed. "I know, but... He just makes me feel awkward. Clumsy. It would be easier if he was actually evil," he added plaintively.

She gave him a mock-stern look. "You need to remember that you're not a student any more, Neville. Minerva's your employer, not your Head of House, and she's not going to take points if you stand up to her. Severus is your equal, not your teacher, and I promise he won't give you detention for speaking to him. In fact," she added impulsively, "I think he'd prefer it."

"He doesn't want to speak to me."

Trying unsuccessfully not to grin, Hermione replied, "No; but I think he'd quite like to argue with you. You're the Head of Gryffindor, and I'm sure he misses sparring with Minerva over Quidditch and the House Cup. He's had more than enough of people being afraid of him, Neville, and he'll respect you far more if you stand up to him – and if you defend your students. I'm not talking about this situation; they don't deserve your apology, frankly. I'm talking about the everyday things. He does still tend to bully Gryffindor sometimes – he's a lot better than he used to be, but sometimes he lapses. Confront him about it. He'll snarl and sneer at you, but if you pay attention to what he actually says you'll see what I mean."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it, Neville. He very seldom said anything truly nasty to you, did he? No, don't argue – _think. _Oh, he insulted your intelligence, but never particularly harshly. The worst things he said to you concerned how bad you were at Potions – and those weren't insults, Neville, they were true," she added gently, and saw him smile ruefully. "Exactly; you were abysmal. But he never insulted _you. _And he never said anything truly personal." She touched his arm. "He could have done, you know. He knew the full truth about what happened to your parents, and about the pressure your family put on you to excel; he knew exactly how to hurt you, if that's what he had wanted to do. He'll be very angry with me for saying this," she confided, "but Severus doesn't actually hate students; except for special cases like Harry, anyway. He'd never have survived this long as a teacher if he did."

Neville grinned then. "Really?"

"Really. And be honest – you tried a lot harder in his lessons than you did in any other class, didn't you?"

"Well... yes."

"And didn't it make it easier to ignore prats like Malfoy?"

He gave her a startled look. "Don't tell me that that's why he did it."

"Oh, no; he did it because he's a bit of a bastard. But it did have some pretty handy side effects, didn't it?" she asked with a grin.

He laughed despite himself, looking around almost guiltily. "I suppose so, when you put it like that." After a moment his smile faded. "But, 'Mione..."

She held up a hand. "I know, Neville. Luna and Ginny are my friends, and Severus is my friend too. I know what happened in that last year. Believe me when I tell you that he feels horribly, painfully guilty about that, even now. He always will. I promise you that it would never have happened that way if he had had any other choice. And you know it, too, don't you? It was never personal, and he hated every single second of it."

Neville eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly. "I suppose I do know that. That doesn't make it right, though."

"Nothing about the war was right, Neville," she replied quietly. "We all did the best we could. If it bothers you that much still, I can possibly persuade him to try and apologise – although I guarantee you'll both find it incredibly embarrassing, being male."

"Even you're not that persuasive, 'Mione," he told her, grinning. "It's still weird, you and him being friends. He hated you – I mean," he corrected himself at her rebuking look, "he _appeared _to hate you as much as anyone."

"Well, I was just a bit annoying in those days," she admitted cheerfully. "Now that I've stopped desperately trying to prove something, we get along well enough, most of the time."

Neville frowned slightly, his eyes turning distant, obviously thinking hard about something. Hermione realised she had made a serious mistake about a second before his eyes widened so much they looked in danger of falling out of his skull. _Oh, shit. _

"Merlin's twisty and tangled beard," he breathed, turning pale. "It's him, isn't it?"

She did her best to look confused, trying not to panic. "What?"

"Your – oh, _Merlin. _Your mystery wizard." He swallowed, looking ill. "It's – it's Snape, isn't it."

She hesitated for a long moment, trying to sort out the tangled thoughts filling her mind. _It's about time someone worked it out. I love my friends, but they're pretty stupid. I've got time to cast _Obliviate. _Severus is going to be furious. I'd make a really crap Slytherin. Neville doesn't look as angry as I thought he would. There's no point in denying it now. I admit it, or I hex him. Oh bugger._

"Yes," she said quietly. "Look, Neville, come in and talk to me, will you? I don't want to discuss this in the corridor."

He trailed after her into her living room, looking utterly stunned, and collapsed into a chair. "I can't believe it."

Hermione sighed and gave him an exasperated look. "What, you thought I'd met a _different _intelligent and moody fifty-odd half-blood Slytherin war veteran a year and a half ago? One that I had known in the past? I practically wrote his name across the sky in letters of fire ten feet high, Neville."

About to say something, he frowned and closed his mouth. "I... guess that's true. But come on, Hermione, why would any of us have guessed Snape? I mean – he's – well, he's Snape," he ended lamely, and she struggled not to laugh.

"Really?" she teased. "I didn't notice. Gosh, that's come as a shock."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, Neville, I know what you mean. But I've been telling you all for over a year, he's not _like _that. Nobody ever saw the _real _Severus, only the greasy git of the dungeons; because that's all he ever allowed anyoneto see." She sighed. "Before you freak out entirely, please remember that this is the same man who gave me my otter ring, who asked me to live with him during the summer holidays, who went to a great deal of trouble to find out where my parents are living now and who by your own admission has made me happier than I've been since... I don't know when."

She sat back and watched him struggle to get his mind around it. She could understand Neville's point of view – this was his childhood tormentor, the man he had been truly afraid of until the war broke out and gave them much more to fear, the man they had all believed was a traitor and a murderer, and the man who had personally tortured Neville into unconsciousness on multiple occasions. But what nobody else seemed to understand was that that was only one side of the story; there was so much more.

After quite a long time Neville gave her a bewildered look. "I still don't get it. But... you're right, you are really happy. I think you should go to St. Mungo's and have them check you out, but... I dunno, I suppose in a really, really weird way it sort of makes sense? You did describe him pretty well – clever, temperamental, tall, dark, _not _handsome..." He choked on sudden laughter, and she joined in. "Merlin, Hermione, this is mental. You and _Snape._ But we all thought after you and Ron split up that you'd never be happy with just anyone... and at least Snape's as smart as you are." He blinked. "All that stuff you've been telling us – it's all true?"

"Yes."

"Snape being sweet and considerate." He looked ill. "I have a headache."

"Neville," she said firmly.

"Sorry. It's just... it's a lot to take in, you know?"

"If it makes you feel better, it took me a bit by surprise as well," she offered wryly.

"I'll bet. How – I mean... well... how did it happen?"

Hermione bit her lip, fighting laughter. "Do you really want details?"

"No!" he yelped, and she started giggling uncontrollably.

When she could breathe, she wiped her eyes, grinning. "Sorry, Neville, I couldn't resist. Trust me, I have no intention of telling you anything about... that."

"Thank Merlin for that," he muttered, looking green.

Smothering more laughter, she sat back in her chair. "We were just friends, at first. You know that much. We have a lot in common and we like talking about a lot of the same things, so we spent a lot of time together. And we were working together, too – some of the injuries he took in the war hadn't healed properly, and I was helping him make a treatment for it. That brought us closer. It happened over the summer – everyone else was busy, or pretending to be busy, and I knew he didn't have anyone else to talk to, so I spent a lot of time at his place, and... one thing led to another, I suppose you could say. We've been together since... the end of June? I didn't bother making a note of the date," she added wryly.

"I have a headache," he repeated plaintively.

"I'll ask Severus for a potion, if you like," she offered mischievously.

"Stop it." He cradled his head in his hands, looking adorably bewildered. "This is... _mental._"

"You said that already," she said helpfully.

"That doesn't mean it's not true." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and straightened. "Does anyone else know?"

"Luna does. I'd been talking to her a lot about being friends with Severus – because nobody else was interested," she added pointedly, and saw him flush slightly, "so she knew he'd given me my otter ring – that wasn't for... romantic reasons; it was a thank-you gift. She guessed on my birthday when you were all asking about him."

"Nobody else?"

"No, not yet; although you all have more than enough information," she scolded lightly. "How many hints do you lot need?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Looking back, it does seem a bit obvious, doesn't it? Sorry." Frowning, he looked around her rooms speculatively. "Do you spend much time with him?"

"I haven't been back here since Halloween, except to pick up a few things," she admitted calmly. "The house-elves keep the dust away, I suppose."

"What about Crookshanks?"

"I told you, Crooks adores Severus. He moved into the dungeons before I did."

Neville sat quietly and thought for a while before shaking his head slowly and looking at her. "Everyone else is going to go spare, 'Mione."

"I know," she admitted softly. "But I'm still going to tell my friends – eventually, and in my own time. The rest of the world can go hang themselves. And even if they do go spare, Neville – if it comes down to a choice between them and Severus, I'm choosing him."

He nodded slowly. "This is serious, isn't it?"

"He's the best thing that's ever happened to me, no matter what he's done in the past, and I'm not letting him go," she told him quietly, "even if he is a bit of a bastard sometimes."

Neville continued to stare at her for a moment, before suddenly grinning. "Well then, that's good enough for me. I still think you're absolutely nuts, but if it makes you happy – and if I don't have to hear about it – then I'm okay with it. And I won't tell anyone else."

Sheer relief made her dizzy. "Thanks, Neville. Really." After a moment she grinned. "Is this the part where you say he'd better look after me, or else?"

He laughed. "Don't be daft. What could I possibly do to him? He'd flatten me in a heartbeat. I'd have more luck trying to kiss a Skrewt."

"True," she agreed, trying to sound apologetic instead of smug – she was proud of her Slytherin's power.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said dryly. "Minerva's going to be furious, you know."

"It's not really any of her business. I don't plan to tell the staff yet, if ever."

"I can't blame you. They... all really hate him."

"I know. Believe me, I know. And so does Severus. It's a bit hard to miss, after all."

"Does he mind?"

"It's hard to tell, sometimes. Most of the time he doesn't seem to care, but it's a bit of an act. He doesn't let it bother him, but... it hurts him. When you think about it, Neville, almost everyone who knows who he is hates him, and has done for most of his life. He's been very alone."

Neville looked thoughtful. "I... I suppose so. It's – not really fair. Even Harry said he couldn't have done it without Snape."

"I'm working on it," she told him. "One thing at a time."

* * *

"Severus?" she called.

"I'm in the lab," his voice floated up the stairs. She found him leaning against one of the benches, apparently engrossed in a small book about the magical properties of various gases. "Did you have a nice chat with Longbottom?" he asked absently.

Folding her arms, she gave him a level look. "You tell me."

"Pardon?"

"Severus, I know you were listening. Once you realised I'd talked Neville into acting like a man, you'd have followed us – out of sheer nosiness if nothing else."

He raised an eyebrow and regarded her haughtily before suddenly smirking. "Only until you went into your rooms," he admitted, his eyes glittering. "There's no passage directly into your quarters. I assume the conversation went well? You'd have been back much sooner if you'd just Obliviated him."

"I wouldn't have done that!" she protested.

He raised the other eyebrow. "I saw you go for your wand, even if he didn't."

Hermione made a face at him. "Yes, the conversation went well. He's – still a bit freaked out, but he more or less accepts it, and he won't say anything. I think he got the message about standing up for himself a bit more, too."

"What on earth possessed you to tell him that I wanted to argue with him?" he asked, putting the book down and giving her an amused look.

"Because I know he won't actually dare do it," she replied with a shrug. "But he should be a bit braver when talking to Minerva now. I'm not sure why that seems to be so important to you, yet, but I know you're planning something pretty major, so I thought I'd help out a bit."

"I don't know if he'll be important or not yet," he replied cryptically, "but it certainly won't harm anything to have a strong Head of Gryffindor around."

"You're deliberately being irritating again. Is there something in the air in that office that makes Headmasters speak in riddles the whole time?" she asked.

He snorted softly. "No, that was just Dumbledore – although give me a century to lose some more brain cells and I might end up that way. I am merely being cautious; I never reveal any of my plans until I know they will work. You know that." He shrugged. "If you care to accompany me to meet with McGonagall on Sunday, you will see phase one being implemented – in fact, you should be there, as it will partly concern you."

"Me? Why – you're not going to tell me." She gave him an exasperated look. "I could get quite irritated with you at times, Slytherin."

"There would be something very wrong with you if you didn't," Severus quipped mildly in reply. "I am, after all, extremely irritating."

"At least you admit it."

"Know thyself, Hermione, know thyself."

* * *

The next day was Saturday, and given the excitement of the past few days, Hermione had been looking forward to sleeping in; but a certain Slytherin seemed to have other ideas – not that she was _too_ unhappy to wake to him kissing her neck, as his fingers slid under the thin oversized t-shirt she had slept in. "I see someone's in a better mood," she murmured drowsily, humming in wordless approval as she became aware of his body pressed against her back.

Severus chuckled softly but didn't bother to answer, too busy nibbling gently at her earlobe as his palm cupped her breast. Responding sleepily, she arched into his touch and sighed, shivering as his other hand began to trace a path down over her stomach to dip between her legs – she'd stopped wearing underwear in bed months ago, since there didn't seem much point. "'Good morning' is more usual, you know."

"Stop complaining," he murmured against her skin, biting softly at the sensitive spot below her ear and sucking gently as his fingers slid between her thighs. "Nothing about us is 'usual' and you know it."

"Umm... Good point," she conceded, shifting her hips to give him more access as her t-shirt rode up a little higher. He delicately teased her nipple between his fingertips with his other hand, his breath warm on her neck as his fingers began a series of slow, torturous circles around the spot she most wanted him to touch. "You're a terrible tease, Severus," she mumbled, trying not to squirm.

"Would you prefer it if I stopped?" he asked softly in an amused tone. Deciding that he was just being unfair now, Hermione stopped trying to keep still and quite deliberately wriggled back against him, smiling triumphantly as his breath caught for a moment. His rich, deep laugh rolled across her skin, almost tactile, and she shivered and bit her lip as his fingers delved a little deeper, still teasing.

He built a slow, maddening rhythm between the hand gently caressing her breast and the hand stroking between her legs, augmented by his mouth at her neck; the unrelenting stimulation drew whimpers of sheer frustration from her and pushed her to the verge of begging before his fingers slid inside her, and even then he was holding back. "Severus..." she whispered, closing her eyes and shifting her hips, seeking deeper contact. "_Please_..."

Shifting position, he drew his hand away, damp fingers trailing along her thigh as he eased her legs apart; she felt the heat of his erection against her as he whispered hotly in her ear, "Yes..." before he slowly entered her from behind, his body still spooned around hers. He couldn't move much in this position, but after all his teasing he didn't need to; the slow rocking movements of his hips as he buried himself inside her were enough to bring her to the edge. Her inner muscles tightened around him as she moaned before the first spasms took her and she cried out, shuddering as she came apart in his arms.

Panting, she caught her breath and relaxed in the aftermath, before frowning slightly as she felt him withdraw – still hard. "You didn't..."

"Not yet," he purred in a voice that should probably have been illegal. "I have other plans."

Rolling over – with some difficulty, since he refused to relax the circle of his arms as he held her, necessitating a great deal of pleasurable squirming – she looked at him, and he gave her an absolutely wicked smile that was every bit as bad as his voice. "I hope you didn't have anything important to do today, Hermione," he informed her silkily, "because unless there is a dire emergency of some kind, I have no intention of allowing you to leave this bed."

Just the idea caused still-sensitive muscles to contract, making her shiver deliciously, but she retained enough self-control to raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh? And what if I were to object to this plan?"

His voice deepened to a low growl. "Objection overruled," he told her, right before he kissed her.

* * *

"Well," Hermione told her lover sleepily, "if this was some sort of statement about your advancing age, all I can say is that I can't wait for your next birthday."

"Hmph," Severus muttered lazily, sounding somewhat justifiably pleased with himself. "Can't a man wake up in a good mood without it being dismissed as some sort of mid-life crisis?"

She smothered a laugh. "A good mood?" she repeated, smiling. "All day is a bit more than just 'a good mood', Severus. I doubt either of us will be able to walk straight tomorrow." In fact, she would quite probably be a little sore, but she certainly wasn't complaining; it had definitely been worth it, she considered lazily. "Whatever you were trying to prove, I think you succeeded," she added, trying not to yawn – it had been a wonderfully _tiring_ day. "Although perhaps a repeat trial might be needed at a later date, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke..."

He stretched carefully and relaxed, absently playing with an errant lock of hair. "I don't have good moods very often," he remarked idly. "Clearly, I was overdue."

"I'll say." She nestled closer against him, listening to his breathing. "You know, a lot of people who suffer from stress or anxiety disorders experience sexual dysfunction," she commented.

Vibrations of near-silent laughter rippled through him, and his arm tightened about her shoulders. "That's about the only symptom I haven't had."

"Mm. Just as well, really." Hermione closed her eyes, every breath carrying the smoky-copper, rain-and-herb scent of him and the muskier odour of sex. "Now that you've finally finished shamelessly using me and driving us both to exhaustion, I don't suppose you feel like cooking breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" he repeated, sounding amused; she felt him lift his head. "It's... quarter to four."

"Is it really? Fair enough. Afternoon tea, then? I'm bloody starving."

"I fed you," he protested mildly.

She smiled at the memory. "The problem with leftover black forest gateau in this particular scenario is that there wasn't much left except cherry-flavoured chocolate and cream. And one way or another, we didn't actually _eat _very much of it." It was lucky that he preferred to do their laundry himself; God only knew what the house-elves would think of their sheets.

"Hmm," Severus murmured by way of agreement, yawning. "Now that you mention it, I am somewhat hungry. I'll get something in a while. Once I have the energy to move."

"You only have yourself to blame."

"Not true. I also have _you_ to blame. I doubt I could have exhausted myself quite so thoroughly alone."

"It was hardly my fault. You're... very determined, when you want to be."

He chuckled softly, smirking. "As I have said on several previous occasions, Hermione, you weren't exactly arguing."

"I was informed that any attempts at argument would not be heeded," she replied primly, "so I decided to save my breath for... other things." Moaning his name, mostly, but she didn't really see any reason to remind him of that – he was smug enough already.

The only response he made was to yawn once more before he sighed contentedly, nuzzling sleepily at her hair as he settled deeper into the bed.

* * *

Saturday had been wonderful, but Sunday promised to be significantly less so. Any private meeting between Severus and Minerva tended to be a little fraught these days; add in the office that had been the scene of so much personal history between them, what Severus disparagingly referred to as the 'peanut gallery' of previous Heads, and the aftermath of the ugly events of the previous week... Hermione was half-seriously considering attempting to Transfigure herself a set of body armour.

"Severus, please tell me what this is about?" she asked again, without much hope. He had steadfastly refused to even give her a hint.

"I told you, you'll see," he replied, sounding distracted as he glared at his reflection as though the mirror had personally offended him. Like Hermione, he had a dislike of any and all enchanted mirrors, and had apparently been known to go out of his way to hex any inanimate object that talked.

"I don't believe this is a precaution at all," she muttered sourly. "You just like keeping secrets."

"Perhaps," he replied calmly, a faint trace of humour glimmering in his eyes.

"Slytherins," she sighed, giving in. "You're impossible."

"Thank you. Are you ready?"

"Ready to duck," she told him wryly, following him out of the dungeons and through the corridors. "Is this going to be the sort of conversation that involves violence?"

"I hope not."

As before, the gargoyle outside the office door bowed to Severus and moved aside without requiring a password, and they ascended the staircase in silence. He seemed tense, but no more so than usual as he tapped at the door and waited for Minerva's quiet, "Enter."

The Headmistress looked up from her paperwork and nodded to him. "Severus. And Hermione? This is a surprise. Come in, my dear – what brings you here?"

"Severus asked me to join us," she explained. "He wouldn't tell me why, though," she added, giving him a mildly exasperated look that he totally ignored.

"Take a seat, both of you. Tea?"

"No, thank you."

Once they were settled – and the portraits had shuffled into frames that gave them good views, Hermione noticed – Minerva turned her attention to the Potions master. "All right, Severus, what is it you wish to discuss?"

"As I said on Thursday night..." he began.

"You said many things on Thursday night," she observed crisply.

Stiffly, he bent his head. "I apologise. It was a trying day for all concerned."

Minerva looked at him steadily for a long moment, until one of the portraits on the wall cleared their throat pointedly – Hermione strongly suspected Dilys. Sighing, the Headmistress gave the frames an irritated glance before looking back at Severus. "True enough," she conceded grudgingly. "Very well. Continue."

He drew a breath and sat back. "As I said on Thursday night, I feel there should be some changes made." He paused. "May I speak frankly?"

For a moment the Headmistress' lips twitched, and she almost smiled. "Not having permission has never stopped you doing so before."

Severus blinked and tilted his head slightly to one side, some of the lines in his face softening subtly. His voice sounded less carefully formal as he replied in cautious but deliberate imitation, "True enough."

Hermione relaxed a little and caught Dumbledore's faint smile out of the corner of her eye; evidently both of them were making a conscious effort to keep things civil.

Leaning forward a little, Severus said without preamble, "The manner in which History of Magic is taught _must _be radically changed."

Minerva looked a little surprised by this – as well she might, Hermione supposed; it had apparently come out of nowhere, after all. "Your flair for the dramatic is known, Severus," she said finally, "but you would hardly say something like that without reason. Tell me everything and we'll take it from there."

"As you wish," he replied, settling into his chair and steepling his fingers as he gathered his thoughts. It didn't take long; apparently he had planned exactly what he wanted to say. "The incident on Thursday would never have happened if those girls had known what their actions truly meant. Afterwards, I spoke with many of my students and discovered that in the main, their knowledge of the war is depressingly lacking. Clearly they must be taught what exactly happened; just as clearly that must be Hogwarts' responsibility. The war falls under the jurisdiction of History of Magic.

"History as it is currently taught is, to be frank, a pointless waste of time and resources. Even in my schooldays it was largely viewed as a good time to get other homework done or to sleep. Binns wasn't much of a teacher when he was alive and death has not improved him. The subjects he covers are irrelevant to most students and should be saved for NEWT level, when only those who are truly interested remain; his teaching style ensures that there are very few genuinely interested potential historians amongst the students.

"I suggest a complete overhaul of the subject. The syllabus desperately needs reworking – his lessons on the origins of wizarding secrecy and the witch trials are worth keeping, but I do not recall anything else of much value. Reduce the goblin rebellions to a simple outline of what happened and the main reasons why – there is no need to spend an entire year learning all the minutiae when it does not add to the knowledge of the problem and will all be forgotten five minutes after the end of the last exam. The same applies to the giant wars. Instead we should be focusing on the Grindelwald conflict and both wars against the Dark Lord, and on the history of Hogwarts itself – the Founders, our alliances with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the Triwizard Tournament. Most purebloods know a few odd bits of trivia; the other students know nothing. Unless they are insufferable know-it-alls who go out of their way to memorise _Hogwarts: A History, _anyway," he added dryly, and Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile as he continued.

"A new teacher will be necessary. Binns is, to be blunt, hopeless. I get the impression that he will continue giving the same lectures to an empty room for all eternity without noticing that he has no students; he does not seem particularly cognizant of his surroundings these days. If not, the other ghosts will gladly step in and help him adjust to no longer being a teacher. His replacement need only teach part time, much as Defence is now taught – many of the subjects I have suggested could be covered in lectures from those who were involved, both from the Order and elsewhere."

Hermione was trying not to stare at him too incredulously; where had all this come from? He'd come up with all this since Thursday? And he hadn't said a word to her about it. The portraits had stopped fidgeting and talking and were all listening intently; even Dumbledore was expressionless and focused, with no sign of a twinkle anywhere. Minerva had been scowling, but now she was listening seriously, and had even begun to make notes.

"Binns no longer draws a salary; a new teacher would be alive and would therefore require payment," she said slowly, thinking aloud rather than seriously objecting.

Severus shrugged. "It has been ten years since I had any knowledge of Hogwarts' resources. I do not know your budget or flexibility and I do not know how willing the governors or the Ministry are to implement changes. Nonetheless, it must surely be possible."

Frowning down at her notes, Minerva was silent for a few moments. "Perhaps," she said eventually. "You are right that the current subject is a disgrace, and it is true that the students need to know about the war, as well as other important events..." She looked up and shot him a piercing stare. "Would you truly be willing to stand and give lectures on the Death Eaters?"

His mouth tightened, his eyes hardening slightly as he glanced down at his lap. "If I must," he replied reluctantly after a short and uncomfortable pause, "but my knowledge of the war as a whole was somewhat restricted. I was mainly concerned with the Dark Lord's personal actions, not his wider campaign. And I was operating on a very strict need-to-know basis," he added pointedly, with a rather irritated glance at Dumbledore's portrait.

"That's a thought," Hermione observed suddenly. "The portraits. Albus knows more about the war than any of us; he was closest to seeing the whole picture. And the conflict with Grindelwald. As well as living veterans, there are dead ones who can still talk of their experiences. A single permanent teacher may not be needed, if we can find someone with the time to coordinate enough guest speakers and put together exam papers."

Minerva nodded, ignoring Dumbledore's attempted protest, and made another note. "It's worth considering, I admit. Albus, stop squirming," she added without looking up. "This is all purely hypothetical at the moment. If necessary we'll get you to dictate notes for someone else to teach." Looking pensive, she nodded slowly. "You make some good points, Severus, much as it pains me to admit it. I will consider this and draw my own conclusions – such reforms will take time to implement. I assume there is more you wished to discuss?"

He nodded. "Professor Granger has told me of the eventual goal of making Muggle Studies a core subject, for much the same reasons as the hopeful future reform of History of Magic – removing ignorance. It is often easier to make many significant changes at once rather than spacing them out – there will be fewer specific objections. Combining the overhaul of History of Magic with this change to Muggle Studies will hopefully lessen the impact."

"And you think you've worked out a way to do it?" Hermione asked, glaring at him. _We are going to have words later, Severus Snape. You should have discussed this with me in advance. _

Once again he displayed the irritating ability to know what she was thinking and replied mildly, "No, or I would have talked to you about it before now. But I have thought of one or two possibilities that may facilitate such a scheme."

Minerva picked up a fresh piece of parchment. "I'm listening."

Severus took a breath. "Aurora Sinistra has been saying for years that she does not wish to teach full time any more," he said slowly. "If Astronomy were to be changed from a core subject for the first five years to an option for third year and beyond, that would balance Muggle Studies shifting from optional to core. Astronomy is not, in my view, a crucial subject that all students need to know; making it an option would allow those who are truly interested to continue studying it."

"Most Astronomy classes take place at night," the Headmistress pointed out after a moment, frowning. "It would not free up space on the timetable."

He nodded. "That will be the main problem," he agreed quietly. "Perhaps some of the History of Magic classes could be held in the evening – many of the guest speakers would be working during the day anyway and may not always be able to get time off. Some classes could perhaps be reduced by one lesson per week for the younger year groups, with the third years being given the option to take advanced classes that would contain the extra material – Herbology in particular is not precisely _essential_ and would certainly be less hazardous if the classes were chiefly composed of those with an aptitude for the subject, although this is something that would need to be discussed with the individual members of staff. Charms, Transfiguration and Defence cannot in good conscience be reduced – of the core subjects, they are the most vital to most students." He grimaced. "It would be very difficult to reduce the Potions syllabus, but if there proved to be no other choice then there may be some leverage."

Minerva jotted down a few more notes. "Why are you pushing for this so hard, Severus?" she inquired with a frown. "You didn't even take Muggle Studies yourself, I recall. I didn't think the subject held any interest for you."

"I didn't take it because I didn't feel I needed to. My father was a Muggle and I knew more than most of my year about the Muggle world," he replied dismissively, "and it was not well taught then in any case – besides, as a Slytherin at that time, had I chosen Muggle Studies my housemates would have made my life even more of a misery. I have spoken with Hermione about what she hopes to achieve by this and why, and I agree with her." He paused, before adding quietly, "I have seen firsthand what ignorance and prejudice can lead to. I do not wish to see it again."

"Is that why you have been leaning on your House so hard?" the Headmistress asked with a frown.

Severus looked blank. "Excuse me?"

"At the start of May the second years are required to choose two options for the following year – three in some cases, but no more than that, not after Hermione's example..." Hermione grinned at that, remembering the stress of that year, and Minerva continued, "but just after Christmas they chose a short list of three or four possibilities that they were considering. Every single Slytherin second year chose Muggle Studies as a possible option."

"Did they really?" Severus murmured. "I had no idea."

"Oh, _really?_" Minerva asked sarcastically.

The Head of Slytherin shrugged. "Most of them chose without any influence from me, I assure you. I recommended considering Muggle Studies to those who came to me for advice _if_ I thought they could learn something, but nothing more."

_You're a rotten liar, _Hermione thought silently, staring at him. She hadn't known he had done that – although in hindsight, perhaps she should have guessed. No Slytherin would have considered her subject for a second unless someone they respected suggested that they should think about it. _Oh, we are definitely going to be talking about this later._

Minerva didn't look any more convinced, but after attempting to outstare him – a waste of time; he could certainly outstare a cat, and in fact he could probably have won a staring contest with a basilisk – she let it go and returned to her notes. "With some modifications, perhaps this could work. Again it will need a great deal more thought and discussion, but it is an idea worth considering."

That was clearly a dismissal, but Severus didn't move. "There was one other, less dramatic suggestion I wished to make."

The Headmistress sighed. "Yes?"

"A class in Healing as an option for the older students. Or possibly as an evening class for any who are interested. Too many students get hurt every day and do not go to the hospital wing for treatment – certainly I seldom bothered. If they are going to attempt to treat themselves, we may as well teach them to do so properly."

Drumming her fingers on the desk, Minerva scowled at him. "Go away, Snape."

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth before he bent his head. "Yes, Headmistress."

* * *

_Next time, Hermione learns Severus' limits, and we chat about politics some more.  
_


	23. Chapter 23

_Drama, drama, drama.__  


* * *

_

**"****Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal**.**"**  
– Friedrich Nietzsche.

* * *

In the deserted corridor outside the Headmistress' office, Severus exhaled heavily and rolled his shoulders as though stiff. "Well, that went far better than I was expecting," he observed.

"Don't be so sure," Hermione said grimly, glaring at him. "It's not over yet."

He blinked and looked at her, then raised an eyebrow. "You wish to scold me for not discussing this with you in advance."

"Amongst other things, yes." Unconsciously putting her hands on her hips, she glared up at him. "Did you plan to tell me that you were forcing your Slytherins to sign up for my class?"

"I wasn't forcing them –"

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "We both know no Slytherin would touch Muggle Studies with a ten-foot pole unless they were pushed into it."

"If I was forcing them to," he said patiently, "why did only two take it up last year?"

"If you _weren't _forcing them to," she countered, "why did they all choose it this year?"

"They won't choose officially until the summer, and I –"

"_Damnit, _Severus!" she half-yelled at him. "This isn't what I wanted! I was thrilled when two Slytherins joined the class – because I thought they had willingly chosen it, that they wanted to learn! I _don't _want or need you interfering and I don't want you compelling your students to choose something they aren't interested in!"

After making an abortive attempt to interrupt, Severus sighed and folded his arms across his chest, patiently staring at the wall above her head and waiting for her to pause for breath. "Are you done?" he asked coolly, sparks of anger glittering in his black eyes.

Glaring wordlessly at him, she shook her head and turned away, and he caught her arm in an iron grip, his fingers digging in with startling roughness.

"Oh, no, my little hellcat, I'll not let you go without having my say," he growled. "You do both me and my Slytherins an injustice, and you _are _going to give me the chance to answer your accusation. I did _not_ lie. I have not ordered any student to choose a particular subject, and the vast majority choose their options without any input from me. Mr Alton and Mr Erlmein chose Muggle Studies of their own free will. Do you know why they are all considering Muggle Studies this year?" he hissed. "Because before Christmas I left them in your care and I told them that they could trust you as they do me. Trust is not a concept any Slytherin views lightly. They are considering Muggle Studies because they know that the teacher will treat them fairly – like human beings rather than dangerous vermin. For my students that is vastly more important than the actual subject. They are _not _my puppets or my slaves; they have minds of their own. Believe me, if I had the power to influence their decisions I would not have lost so many of them to the Dark Lord!"

"As if any Slytherin except you would ever trust a Mudblood," she said bitterly, and only realised what she had said when he turned deathly pale. His hands had clenched into fists and for a moment she half-thought he was going to hit her.

"If you _ever _say that word in my hearing again, you will be extremely sorry," he said finally in a very dangerous tone of voice that she had never heard from him before. Abruptly he spun and drove his left fist into the solid stone wall beside him; she clearly heard the snap of breaking bone and flinched, unable to prevent a soft gasp. He stood frozen for a moment before exhaling slowly and lifting his hand, studying his torn and bloody knuckles with a detached expression.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Hermione drew a shaky breath; the sudden violence had scared her. What made it worse in many ways was that Severus didn't look particularly angry or upset any more; there was no real emotion on his face at all as he regarded his broken hand. On the other hand – _oh, God, that's an unfortunate phrase – _she had seen him enraged before; when he truly lost control, it showed. Had he intended to harm her, he would have drawn his wand, hexed her and been on his way before she had time to so much as blink; she had seen his combat reflexes before, too. This was something else, and she was relieved to find that after the initial shock she wasn't actually afraid of him – well, at least not very much, she admitted to herself honestly.

"I think I'm quite sorry now, actually," she said in a small voice.

Still disturbingly calm, he replied levelly, "This was my fault, not yours." Quite deliberately he flexed his broken fingers, wincing slightly.

"Please don't do that," she managed to say as calmly as she could manage under the circumstances. "You'll make me sick."

"Don't look, then," he responded absently.

"Don't be stupid. Can you heal it yourself, or do you want me to try?" Focusing helped, she decided. If she concentrated on the fact that Severus was hurt, and didn't let herself think about how he'd been hurt in the first place, it was easier to deal with.

"Not here," he said curtly. Turning away, he strode off down the corridor; staring after him for a moment, she shook her head and followed him down to the dungeons.

* * *

By the time she arrived, her head had cleared, and she knew better than to allow him to slink off and lick his wounds somewhere by himself. Calmly ignoring his attempt to evade her, she pushed him down into a chair and seized his wrist to examine his hand, which was now beginning to swell angrily; had he truly wished to stop her, he could have done so easily, without even really trying, so she was reasonably certain that he wasn't as angry with her as he seemed. "Was this really necessary?" she asked mildly as she swept her wand over the back of his hand, counting the number of breaks.

"Yes," he replied stiffly, avoiding her eyes as he studied a thin trickle of blood seeping from one torn knuckle. "I have something of a history of overreacting to that particular word. My reaction today was actually incredibly restrained. I've killed men for saying it," he added quietly. "Oh, they had done other things, of course," he said in response to her questioning glance, "but that was the main reason why I did it." He exhaled. "You know several of my triggers. That is one of the worst, especially coming from you."

"I'll remember that in future," she commented ruefully. "Keep your hand still; this is going to hurt."

"You don't say?"

The sarcasm was heartening; it meant that the real Severus was still there. The deadened, eerie calm he had been showing up until now was creepy. Suppressing an almost relieved smile, she tapped the back of his hand with her wand. "_Episkey._" A series of dull pops came from his hand, and he winced, flexing his fingers as the bones realigned.

"Ow," he said solemnly.

"Don't be such a wimp. You told me you could endure the Cruciatus without screaming, but a broken hand makes you whimper?"

"Small pains often hurt more than larger injuries. Young children can break an arm with barely a sniffle, but if they trip and skin their knees they howl. And papercuts are remarkably painful considering how small and shallow they are."

"That's actually a good point," she replied thoughtfully as she Summoned a mild disinfectant to bathe his scraped and bloody knuckles. "I wonder why that is?"

"I believe it is part of the body's defensive response to serious injury – the nerve impulses from the site of injury are blocked temporarily until you are somewhere safe and have the luxury of feeling pain, which is why many wounds do not hurt until you actually take notice of them. Smaller injuries are not life threatening, and so perhaps are not blocked in the same manner..."

He fell silent, watching her hands as she gently massaged his injured hand, pressing carefully on the delicate bones to make sure they had all aligned correctly and rubbing the gashes on his knuckles as she murmured the healing spell. Caught up in what she was doing, Hermione mused that she had never really paid such close attention to the human hand before; the sheer complexity was fascinating and oddly beautiful.

And Severus had nice hands, all things considered, she reflected. He had the long fingers usually called 'pianist's hands' that were thought to represent an artistic nature, and he kept his nails short and neatly trimmed. His hand was covered with dozens of tiny scars, stains and calluses from years of potions and other work; reaching out absently, she found his other hand and compared the two in silent, wholly absorbed fascination. He was almost ambidextrous, in an odd way, seeming to divide the usual tasks between both hands; he wrote with his right hand, but did much of his wand work with his left, and when he was brewing he used both hands equally. Outside the lab he was predominantly right handed, but not exclusively. She also happened to know that both hands were equally gifted in giving her pleasure, and that he favoured his left hand when he touched himself – or at least, he had done; it wasn't really relevant these days.

She moved each of his fingers in turn, slowly, feeling the play of muscles and watching the skin pull taut over the knuckles; the newly healed skin was soft and felt almost fragile, and his fingers were unusually flexible – she thought they might be double-jointed. Next, she studied the delicate blue veins under the pale skin, before turning his hand over to examine his palm. She had dropped Divination before they had got as far as palm reading, and thought it was a load of nonsense anyway, but she did at least know the names of the obvious points like the life line and the love line. Gently kneading the big muscle at the base of his thumb, she traced his palm, rubbing in slow circles before transferring her attention to his other hand and repeating the actions. Eventually she stopped her exploration, gently tracing the letters engraved on his ring; the silver was warm from his skin and seemed almost a part of him.

Studying him more closely, she reflected that these hands had killed, not just once but many times, and had spilled more blood and caused more pain than she could possibly imagine, yet they were also the hands that touched her so gently and with such tenderness as they made love and could create master works skilfully. It was another of the complex contradictions that made up his nature, and it was absolutely fascinating.

Abruptly she realised what she was doing, and looked up to find Severus watching her silently, his eyes serious and intent. Blushing, she let go of his hands. "Sorry."

"Are you?" he asked quietly.

"Well... no..."

"Then don't say it." He transferred his gaze from her face to her hands, and after a moment glanced up at her once more. It took her a moment to work out what he was silently asking for, and she couldn't stop herself smiling as she reached for his hand once more, gently twining her fingers through his.

As she did so, she recalled one of the earliest conversations she had had with Luna about him, when they had been discussing the importance of touch; not for the first time, she wondered how long it had been since anyone except her had truly touched Severus. Not casual contact, like accidentally brushing against him on the bus, but the usual everyday friendly touches – she wasn't particularly touchy-feely, but she hugged her friends when she saw them, and often sat close enough that they touched, or brushed a hand or shoulder in passing, without really thinking about it. Such casual contact was normal, but for Severus she doubted it had ever really been part of his life. Certainly in the early days of their friendship he had been incredibly uncomfortable with even minor physical contact, and even now it still sometimes made him tense; he was generally an isolated person, physically and emotionally.

At the same time, he could occasionally be almost needy and sometimes downright clingy, especially after sex. She suspected that was mostly because sex gave him a plausible excuse to seek the closeness, the affection and the contact that he wanted. Since that conversation with Luna she had been reading about the psychology of touch, when she could, and she recalled descriptions of skin-hunger – the desperate loneliness that had been known to drive people to incredible lengths in search of gentle human contact.

Now as she gently examined his hands once more, she recalled Christmas Eve in Cambridge, when the only time he had let go of her hand had been to put his arm around her shoulders; she remembered the almost possessive way he held her after sex and the fact that they generally made love in positions that ensured the maximum skin-to-skin contact; and she remembered countless evenings curled up together reading or working by the fire, realising that he was almost always touching her in some fashion – whether it was a hand resting on her leg, or simply sitting close enough that their legs or shoulders touched, or his more recent habit of playing with her hair. She doubted that he even realised he did it. And if she woke in the night she almost always found him curled around her and snuggled as close as he could physically get.

It only confirmed what she had suspected for a long time; that he had been physically abused as a child. Harry had been neglected shamefully, but the Dursleys had never actually beaten him as such and had given him adequate (if only just) food and shelter, albeit grudgingly; his abuse had been largely emotional. It had left him with his own share of problems, but the situation wasn't the same. And for Severus the problem was compounded because that physical abuse had never really stopped; he had been bullied extensively at school, and not just by the Marauders, and that had been followed by the years of often outright torture he had suffered under Voldemort. And almost all of it had been endured alone. It was entirely possible – perhaps even likely – that he hadn't known any benign, affectionate human contact in decades.

Really, it was hardly surprising that he was clingy and needed reassurance sometimes, or occasionally had the odd breakdown where he did something violent like smash his hand into a stone wall; the real surprise was that he was mostly relatively normal and functional, especially since he had also faced far more than his fair share of emotional and psychological abuse as well. She could probably unhinge him completely with a simple slap to the face and the right insult; it was a little frightening to confront just how much power she actually had over him.

Slowly Hermione undid the cuffs of his teaching robe and of his coat and shirt underneath, pushing his sleeves back to the elbows so she could extend her exploration along his forearms; her fingers traced the delicate bones and veins of his wrists, smoothing over the thin black hairs on his arms and feeling the sinewy muscles that ran along the bones. She knew his body as well as she knew her own, after so long, but she touched him now as though it were the first time, gently relearning his skin, scars and all. Had her eyes been closed, she wouldn't have known it when her fingers touched the Dark Mark; he had been right, back in the caravan so long ago, it just felt like skin. The scars behind it were old enough to lie flat against his skin, faded white lines that she couldn't feel any more. Surprisingly, they seemed to be the only self-harm scars he possessed, at least as far as she could tell.

He was lying back in the chair by this point, utterly passive, his eyes closed; he barely twitched when she removed her hands from his arm and touched his face. Here, at least, his scars were minimal; there was a small one through his left eyebrow, two parallel and very fine lines across his cheekbone that were barely visible any more, and the one on his forehead that ran into his hair and caused the white streak. His face wasn't as thin as it used to be, his cheeks less hollow and his eyes less sunken. His lips were fuller than they appeared as she gently traced the outline of his mouth.

She stroked the bridge of his hawkish nose, feeling the uneven ridges of cartilage under her fingers where it had been repeatedly broken and hadn't quite knit straight, and touched the slightly darker skin under his eyes that never entirely lost the bruised appearance of the terminal insomniac that he was. The skin on his temples was soft, and her fingers followed it to gently push into his hair – a little oily at the roots still, despite his best efforts, but not enough to be truly unpleasant. She could feel the shape of his skull and the warmth of his scalp as the thick dark strands of hair slid between her fingers, touched with only the faintest traces of grey; half a century was still young for a wizard, so the few white hairs he did have were probably from stress and scars rather than advancing age.

Smoothing one hand through his hair, Hermione brought the other down the side of his face, following the strong line of his jaw to his throat, undoing his collar and tugging the high neck of his robe open. She found the slightly rough spot on his neck where the uppermost one of the snakebite scars made it awkward to shave, and traced the scars themselves, two small jagged tears; her fingers trembled then, as she remembered how much blood he had lost from this pair of relatively small and innocent-looking wounds. He had much worse scars, but these two had killed him – albeit only temporarily. But now his pulse beat steady and strong under her fingers, and it made it easier to forget the feel of his skin ten years ago as it cooled and the blood began to dry; pushing the memory away, she left the scars and brushed her fingertips across his Adam's apple, feeling again the delicate rings of his windpipe before moving down to outline the hollow at the base of his throat.

Severus was completely relaxed when she drew her hand away and reached to cup his cheek gently in her palm; he leaned into the touch unconsciously, looking like he was half asleep. Turning slightly, Hermione realised that Crookshanks had evidently decided to join in; at some point the cat had leaped lightly onto the wizard's lap and installed himself under one of Severus' hands, where he was now purring like an outboard motor. Smiling ruefully at the sight, she moved to sit on the arm of the chair, and Severus moved sideways to lean against her automatically, his eyes still closed.

"How does your hand feel?" she asked softly, and watched his fingers twitch against Crookshanks' fur.

"A little stiff, but it will be fine. Thank you."

"Well, if you hadn't done it in the first place," she scolded gently, smiling at him. More seriously, she added, "I am sorry I said it."

"You should be," he replied quietly. "It's a foul thing to say about anyone. And entirely undeserved. I know you think more of yourself than that."

"Yes. It wasn't fair to Slytherin, either."

That earned her a true smile, his eyes curiously soft when he opened them to look up at her. "And that, Professor, is precisely why I suspect my students will fight tooth and nail to take Muggle Studies next year."

"Is it truly so difficult for your students in most lessons?"

"Yes," he said flatly. "It's nothing overt; nothing I could challenge another teacher over. But perfect work is never rewarded and rarely acknowledged, and transgressions are punished ruthlessly. Slytherins are seldom permitted to answer questions in class..." He paused and frowned, before smiling ruefully. "It occurs to me that, ironically, they are generally treated in the manner that I treated you."

"Ouch," she teased gently, shaking her head. "Has it improved at all since last year?"

Severus tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "Not precisely," he said finally, "but it does not outwardly bother them as much as it did. Having a Head of House who is prepared to actively defend them and listen to them has made a remarkable difference to their self esteem."

Quite deliberately she reached out and ruffled his hair, stifling a laugh when he glared at her. "You really must stop being so caring, or I might find myself forgetting that you're a bastard."

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, closing his eyes again and leaning against her once more.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"What actually happened this morning?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not the most politically savvy person, but I could tell that there was a lot going on in that office that didn't show on the surface. What are you up to?"

He smirked and shifted position; taking the hint, she stood up, and they relocated to the sofa where they could settle side by side with a purring Crookshanks stretched out across both their laps. Only when they were settled once more did he answer. "What do you think I was up to?"

"I think you were trying to push through a number of reforms that are very important to you. I'm just not sure why."

His expression turned pensive. "Mainly they are changes that I would have liked to implement had I had any power at all while I served as Headmaster, if I hadn't merely been a figurehead for a psychotic half-human monster. It also has a lot to do with the hierarchy amongst the staff members – I don't know how much you are aware of the pecking order?"

"Umm. It's not an official hierarchy, but I do know what you're getting at – it's a bit like the dominance interactions in a wolf pack, isn't it, sometimes?"

"There are worse analogies," he agreed wryly. "In any case, I was... third in line, if you will. Had the war not completely messed everything up, Dumbledore would have retired or died of natural causes; McGonagall would have become Headmistress; and I would have been Deputy Headmaster. I spent years believing that someday I would be Headmaster, so I did often think of what I would like to do if I could. Things didn't quite work out that way," he added with ironic understatement, "and I am now very definitely the – the omega wolf. This morning I decided to move up in the ranks again and shake things up so that the hierarchy resettles itself as it should be."

He absently began combing his fingers through the long fur on Crookshanks' belly, smiling slightly as the cat's purring redoubled in volume. "The problem is that the hierarchy is wrong." Drawing his wand, he began sketching a kind of flow chart in glowing lines in the air. "The Headmaster or Headmistress is at the top. Their Deputy is below them. Below the Deputy are the Heads of House, and then the other staff members. Do you see the flaw?"

Hermione studied the diagram, noting that only three Heads of House were represented. "The Deputy?" she hazarded.

"Yes. Filius Flitwick is a good man and a good teacher, but..." He poked the small square that represented the Charms teacher. "He is old. I don't actually know his exact age, but he cannot be much younger than Dumbledore was. He is certainly decades older than McGonagall; realistically he cannot succeed her. He will almost certainly be forced to retire in the next few years. Which leaves us with a problem." He poked the square again, and it fizzled and almost went out.

"So you're trying to set yourself up to take over as Deputy?" she asked with heavy scepticism.

Her tone earned an approving look before he smirked. "McGonagall certainly thinks so, after today, which was one of the things I hoped to achieve. I want her paranoid and I want her thinking of ways to block my supposed attempt at a coup."

"So that you can manoeuvre her towards your real candidate," she guessed, not for the first time marvelling at the innate Slytherin cunning and capacity for plotting. "I didn't think it was for you, not after everything that happened before."

"No, although that is not the only reason I do not wish the post. Slytherin needs me more than Hogwarts as a whole does. Which brings us rather neatly to the other flaw in the hierarchy..." He prodded the glowing diagram again, and the boxes changed colour. "This was the situation when you were at school – and when I was at school, come to that." The boxes moved; a red box led to a red box beneath it, and then to three boxes on the next level – blue, green and yellow. The remaining boxes on the bottom level stayed white. "This is the current situation," he continued; the second box changed from red to blue, and the blue box on the third level turned red.

Severus studied the flow chart through half-hooded eyes. "This is what it ought to be," he said softly, and gestured with his wand. The topmost box and the one beneath it turned white; a fourth box joined the three on the next level down, now comprising red, blue, green and yellow. The bottom layer remained white. "Do you see it?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "You want a Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress who is not also a Head of House." Thinking about it, she nodded. "It makes sense."

"More than that, it is vital. The Deputy Head is equally responsible for all the students; the Head of House must be biased in favour of their own students. The two roles are incompatible. McGonagall always took the side of her Gryffindors – against me in my schooldays, against Draco and the others in yours, against other students from other Houses in the years in between – regardless of who was actually to blame. She placed Head of House before Deputy Headmistress. With a former Gryffindor as Headmaster as well, the bias was worse. I was not the only Slytherin driven to the dark path for that reason. Dumbledore was never truly neutral; he had his favourites, and they tended to be the sort of boy who was Sorted into Gryffindor – the bold, adventurous types, given to cheerful rule breaking, not particularly skilled at considering consequences." He sighed. "I sound bitter, I know, but I am not only referring to my own situation."

"I know, Severus," she said reassuringly. "But surely no Headmaster or Headmistress can be truly neutral? There must always be some tendency to favour their own former Houses."

"Yes," he admitted, "but he was an extreme example – as is McGonagall; she has been Head of Gryffindor for so long that she cannot get out of the habit. Doubtless I would have been the same had we not been at war when I was Headmaster," he added honestly. "If Longbottom can truly show a little of his House's courage and challenge her over it, and take control of Gryffindor for himself, that will help. Whoever succeeds Flitwick must be neutral – Ravenclaw don't usually get into volatile situations, but again, he has been their Head of House for many decades, and he will automatically side with them, no matter how fair-minded he wishes to be."

"So who do you have in mind?" she asked, studying the diagram once more. He had clearly put a great deal of thought into this over the years, and he was right. The only biased staff members should be the four Heads of House; the Head and Deputy Head should be neutral. It seemed so obvious now that he had pointed it out. He started to laugh quietly; frowning, Hermione looked at him blankly, which only made him laugh harder.

"Can you think of no one I might wish to see as deputy?" he asked, still laughing.

"_Me? _Severus, you can't be serious!"

"And why not, pray?" he asked quietly. His eyes were intent as he stared at her. "You are intelligent and fair-minded, with a well developed sense of justice; you are compassionate and considerate without being weak or over-emotional, and fearless when it comes to defending those who are vulnerable; you are stubborn when you have to be and know how to pick your battles; you keep your head in a crisis and you are more than capable." There was no trace of laughter on his face now. "I am extremely serious, Hermione."

Lost for words, she stared at him, struggling to make sense of this. _He really means it, _she realised with a certain sense of wonder and disbelief. Taking a breath, she looked away from him and concentrated on stroking Crookshanks as she processed his words.

It wasn't necessarily for personal reasons. Whatever Severus felt for her, he wouldn't allow it to affect his judgement – Hogwarts meant a great deal to him and he had an entirely separate set of priorities regarding his place of employment. He wasn't trying to get her a promotion out of some misguided wish to help her; he genuinely believed it was in the school's best interests. He would benefit from it, having a superior who would treat his Slytherins fairly and who he got along with rather well, but that wasn't his main goal.

She wondered a little wildly just how long he had been thinking about this; she was pretty sure he had been slowly building this campaign strategy for months if not since last year, gradually working his way up through the hierarchy until he was in a position to see the whole picture and waiting for his chance to start pushing. In fact, given his earlier words, he had probably been considering this for decades, just waiting for the right potential candidate to come along, although doubtless the earlier version of this plan had been aimed at choosing his own deputy and successor when the time came.

And of all the possible choices who would satisfy his criteria, he felt she was the best choice to care for the school he loved. It was the highest compliment he had ever paid her.

"I... Severus, I don't know what to say."

"Good Lord."

"You're not funny."

"You can say, 'Thank you, Severus'," he suggested mockingly.

"Thank you for being such a patronising bastard, Severus."

"You're welcome." He smiled slightly. "Surely it can't be that much of a surprise?"

"Do I _look _like I was expecting it?"

"At the moment you look a little like you're fighting the urge to hex me," he observed. "That is hardly a rare occurrence, of course, but nonetheless I fail to see... Ah." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "You feel that I am being chauvinistic, that I am assuming that you could not possibly get this hypothetical promotion on your own merits, but only through the conniving manipulations of a Slytherin. I assure you, that is not my intention. You are already one of the most likely candidates; I simply have little faith in Minerva McGonagall's judgement and wish to err on the side of caution. In any case, I am not so arrogant as to automatically assume that I can influence matters one way or another; I am merely starting things off."

Until he had said it, she hadn't realised that she was angry, but he was right – she had been a little offended by his attitude. As always, he had managed to defuse her anger without actually apologising, which was one of his more annoying habits. Relenting, she found his hand and linked her fingers through his. "Why the sudden urge towards revolution and social reform?"

"It's not sudden," he replied quietly. "I failed Hogwarts badly in many ways. I would like to help improve it, if I can. Even though I will always only be remembered as the Death Eater who murdered Dumbledore, I would like to leave _something _good behind me, whether it is attributed to me or not."

"Oh, Severus." She leaned against his shoulder and squeezed his hand gently. "You have. If it weren't for you, none of us would be here now. It might have been Harry who cast the final spell, but without you he never would have made it that far." Lifting his hand, she kissed his knuckles lightly before letting go, and after a moment he wordlessly slid his arm around her shoulders to draw her close. "So," she remarked more cheerfully, "you're going to singlehandedly reform one of the oldest wizarding institutions and forever alter the face of wizarding education. And for your next trick?"

He chuckled softly, resting his cheek against her hair. "Oh, the usual – topple the Ministry, overthrow the government, declare myself King of Wizarding Britain and found an empire. We Slytherins do have a reputation for ambition that I have to uphold, after all."

"Sounds like fun, but could you wait until the summer holidays, do you think? I'm going to be a bit busy over the next couple of months."

"Who said you were going to be involved?" he asked disdainfully. "Once I'm King, I'll be able to have any woman I want."

Hermione smothered a laugh. "Just as well you only want me, then, isn't it?" she retorted before she could stop herself, and held her breath when she realised what she had said. His only response was to laugh quietly, without mockery, his arm tightening around her shoulders, and she slowly let herself relax.

* * *

Things were changing, she observed as January continued. Severus was no longer content to lurk in his corner of the staff room and observe; he now participated in every meeting, frequently stirring any minor issues into conflicts. She knew that was partly because of the plan his twisty mind had managed to concoct, but anyone watching his smirk as he observed the results would have realised that it was also because he found it amusing. Nonetheless, there were glimpses of Snape-the-teacher still; he was pushing his colleagues and challenging them, making them think before they spoke.

It was also fascinating to observe the subtle power plays going on. Hermione's own position in the hierarchy was fairly solid; the 'old guard', teachers such as Minerva and Filius Flitwick, outranked her simply because of the history – she didn't feel comfortable challenging them. Aside from that, she stood fairly high; her status as a war hero guaranteed respect, and her intelligence and fearlessness when challenged ensured that the others were mostly happy to defer to her. She hadn't really noticed it before.

Severus, on the other hand, was as he had said – very definitely the omega wolf. Everyone looked down on him; or, rather, they _tried _to. The problem was that Severus was far more intelligent than most of them were, and now that he had decided to enter the game, he was impossible to beat in an argument. His combination of razor sharp logic and withering scorn, tempered with a few judicious insults, meant that he was invariably the winner in any conflict, and he had quickly clawed his way past her to his current place amongst the other Heads of House.

He had no competition on that score; Neville was still a little afraid of him, and tended to look a little green whenever both Severus and Hermione were in the same room. Madam Hooch had taken over as Head of Hufflepuff when Pomona Sprout had left a few years ago; she was a surprisingly forceful witch, but nowhere near Severus' league. Flitwick wasn't ruthless enough to pursue an argument, and also didn't appear to have realised yet that the younger wizard was challenging him. It really was just like a wolf pack.

Hermione had read a lot about wolves in her third year, and the important point about the omega wolf was that he was a lot more powerful than most people realised. Everyone thought the omega was the weakest wolf, the one the others bit and chased off. Not so; the omega was usually one of the strongest, and held his lower status deliberately. If two high-ranking wolves fought, one or both would be hurt, and the pack could lose a hunter; if such a situation arose, the omega threw himself into the middle of it, distracting them, drawing their aggression and defusing the situation. It was a very powerful position, especially if the omega happened to have human intelligence and was skilled at manipulation.

She had also noticed that Severus was subtly enhancing her own status, simply because when she spoke on a topic, he listened. They had got into some memorable debates in the staff room recently – well, more arguments than debates, technically. He didn't interrupt her, and he didn't insult her if he disagreed. Their debates could and often did dissolve into heated shouting matches, but he lost as many as he won. It was a subtle yet effective strategy; he had declared himself one of the strongest, and he treated her as an equal.

What was truly fascinating was that nobody was consciously aware of it. Humans didn't operate in the same way any more and they had forgotten how to read such signals, but part of the hindbrain still remembered; the staff (and the students, when she began observing their interactions) responded to body language and nonverbal cues without being aware that they were doing so. This power play had escaped them all completely. Severus was able to manipulate them all only because they didn't know he was doing it; it was obvious once you knew what to look for.

"How did you ever lose a fight?" she asked after one meeting, shaking her head, half-admiring, half-incredulous.

"I rarely have," he replied without boasting. "Only when I made a serious mistake, or when I was badly outnumbered." He smiled slightly. "The best fight is one that does not need to be fought; most conflicts end before they start. That is why it is often the one who strikes first who loses."

_Slytherins.

* * *

_It didn't always work, though, as Hermione observed at the beginning of February. The staff meeting had reached the 'any other business' stage when Minerva said briskly, "Finally, the Valentine's weekend duty rota. Severus, I've put you down for Hogsmeade chaperon."

It was the task everyone hated, and Hermione didn't blame him for looking annoyed. "Why?" he bit out tersely.

The Headmistress raised an eyebrow. "Because of all of us, you're the least likely to have plans for the weekend," she replied somewhat unkindly.

His eyes went flat and his jaw tightened, but he didn't respond to the insult. "I made it clear when I returned to teaching that I was to be exempt from Hogsmeade duties," he said tightly. That was true, Hermione reflected; he never had explained why he had insisted on that. She had assumed it was just because he hated it, but looking at him now, it seemed there might be more to it than that.

"Nonetheless, your contract requires you to cover the duties of other staff when necessary. This is not open to discussion."

"Fine," he snapped, scowling. "At least I will be spared the sight of the nauseatingly pink building for a few hours."

Minerva continued, "I need volunteers to ensure a staff presence in the castle..." She wrote down one or two names, before Hermione sighed.

"I'll do it."

"Are you sure, dear? I expected you to have plans..."

"Actually, I found out today that he has to work that weekend," Hermione replied, adding a little nastily, "It's his boss, you see. She can be a petty and vindictive old harridan sometimes, and she doesn't like him."

Neville choked on a mouthful of coffee, spraying it down his robes as he went into a lengthy coughing fit. By the time he had recovered his breath, scarlet and wheezing, Hermione was fighting off giggles; Severus merely looked at her, arching an eyebrow, but she could clearly see the glimmer of amusement in his face.

"Well, that's still no excuse," Minerva told her. "You make sure he makes it up to you."

"I intend to," she replied innocently, and almost lost it completely when Neville choked again. He sounded in danger of coughing up a lung, but at least it prevented anyone else hearing Severus snickering.

* * *

_We're about half way through the story now._


	24. Chapter 24

_Drama, drama, drama.__ Again. But fluffier.  


* * *

_

**"****When one has been threatened with a great injustice, one accepts a smaller as a favour**.**"**  
– Jane Welsh Carlyle.

* * *

On Valentine's Day itself, Hermione was attempting to draft a letter to her parents, and doing her level best to ignore the pink tinge to the walls of her office; being on duty, she couldn't hide in the dungeons, and Severus still refused to remove the decorations from anywhere except his own quarters. The letter wasn't going well; this was her third draft, and she was a sentence away from incinerating it like the first two, when she was interrupted by someone hammering on the door. Frowning, she looked up. "Yes?"

Whoever was on the other side threw the door open hard enough for it to rebound off the wall. It turned out to be a very red-faced and out of breath Timothy Alton, almost bent double as he gasped, "Professor Granger! Hogsmeade – trouble –"

Standing, she made sure she had her wand in her robe. "Have you told the Headmistress?"

"No," he wheezed, gulping air. "It's Professor Snape..."

"Tell me on the way to the gates," she ordered, gesturing him to the door. The Slytherin staggered out ahead of her. "Did you run all the way from Hogsmeade?"

He nodded breathlessly. "Please..."

"What's happened?"

"Well. Nothing, yet," he admitted hoarsely. "But – there's a crowd – and they're saying –"

"You're talking about a mob," she realised slowly. "Mr Alton, look at me." The boy could barely see straight, but he focused on her face. "Let me get this straight. A crowd has gathered in Hogsmeade. They are confronting Professor Snape, and you feel that the situation is going to turn ugly and that he may need help. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Professor," he agreed shakily. Drawing a ragged breath, he straightened, assuming a curiously dignified expression. More quietly, he said, "They're calling him a murderer, Professor. A Death Eater." All emotion faded from his eyes, and he gave her the horribly familiar Slytherin look – the resigned, dead expression she had seen from Severus far too often; the look of someone who didn't expect help.

"Just tell me where."

He sagged, relieved. "Outside Gladrags."

"Go to Professor Snape's office and wait until he returns. Don't touch anything in there, and don't speak of this to anyone," she told him. "Oh, and Mr Alton?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Thirty points to Slytherin."

His sudden grin was the last thing she saw clearly; they were outside by that time, and she broke into a sprint across the grounds. The drive was treacherous, partly icy and partly muddy, but that didn't matter; she wasn't sure she had ever run so fast before, but if Timothy was right then every second counted. Skidding through the gates, she closed her eyes, thought a prayer and Disapparated.

* * *

Gladrags Wizardwear was on the outskirts of the village, and the street in front of the store was apparently deserted. Evidently she had arrived too late; gripping her wand tensely, Hermione looked around, and after a moment heard a familiar drawling voice. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

She turned, relief filling her, and found him leaning against the wall in the shadowy mouth of an alley, watching her. Noting the telltale lack of expression in his face and studying the way he was standing, she sighed. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Severus, I'm neither blind nor stupid. You can't move, can you?"

"Not easily, no," he admitted candidly, very carefully turning his body to lean back against the wall and gingerly shifting his weight. "Why do you suppose it's always my _right _leg that gets hit?" he asked rhetorically, deftly slicing open his robe with a flick of his wand to survey the limb in question.

"If it had been your left instead you'd have to try and work out how to limp with both legs," she pointed out, crouching to peel the torn cloth away as he sliced through his trousers as well. "Was it your knee again?"

"Naturally," he replied with a sigh, gloomily regarding the joint. It was obvious that the kneecap had been smashed.

"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Sorry. Stupid question. We need to get you to the hospital wing."

"There's no need," he replied laconically, and tapped his knee with his wand before she could stop him. "_Reparo._"

"Severus!" she gasped, appalled. "You can't use that spell on bones!"

"You can, actually," he corrected her mildly. "It's usually a very bad idea, but it's probably the only thing that will hold my knee together long enough for me to get back to the castle. I can treat it properly there."

"Severus..."

"This isn't the first time I've been in this situation," he told her dryly. "I assure you, I know what I am doing."

"I know what you're doing, too. You're being stupid and stubborn."

Severus ignored her. "Are you coming?" he asked, offering his arm. Shaking her head, she took it.

The walk up the drive was painful to watch. Whatever he had done to his knee seemed to have fused it completely; his leg wouldn't bend at all, and it was clearly agony, because his face was only ever this expressionless when he was hurting badly. Trying to distract him, she asked, "What happened?"

"I would have thought that rather obvious," he replied in a bored tone. "I was recognised by a group of people who seemed to take exception to the fact that I was walking around, instead of – what was the phrase? Ah, yes – 'rotting in Azkaban like I deserved'." He shrugged. "It's not the first time something of the sort has happened, and I doubt it will be the last."

"You've been attacked before?" she asked in a shocked voice, torn between outrage and anger.

"Not with magic," he replied thoughtfully. "That was new. Previously, people have generally limited themselves to rather inferior insults, although some displayed a fondness for spitting and there have been one or two missiles – stones, mostly, and I seem to recall a broken bottle at one point."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "If you don't stop acting like this is normal, Severus, I'm going to bloody well kick your good leg out from under you. Can't you at least pretend to be upset, or – surprised, or _something? _You know I hate it when you go all emotionless on me."

"In order to be upset, I'd have to care what the general public think of me," he replied mildly, "and I truly don't. There are very few people whose opinions carry any weight with me whatsoever, and none of them were present today. And it certainly did not come as a surprise." He sighed, sounding tired. "This _is_ normal, Hermione; normal for me, at least. I am recognised every time I enter Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley, and unlike your celebrity friends, I do not attract positive attention."

"But for people to attack you in the street..."

"It wasn't a serious attack," he corrected her wearily. "Someone aimed a Reductor curse near my feet to try and make me jump out of the way – hardly an original tactic – and a chunk of broken cobblestone hit my knee."

"That's not the point!" she said furiously in a low voice. "Damnit, Severus, you're not a criminal and shouldn't be treated like one!"

His dark eyes were old when he looked at her, old and jaded and somehow knowing. "You act as if this is something new. I've been treated like this for more years than I care to remember; such things no longer have the power to hurt me."

"That isn't the point either," she hissed, half tempted to hit him just to try and get some sort of reaction. "It isn't – _right!_"

"And when has that ever mattered?" Severus asked quietly. "I don't believe that you are still an idealist after everything you have seen and done." He shook his head, concentrating on the muddy path. "It really doesn't matter, Hermione. People are entitled to hate me after what I've done; they can spit at me and curse me in the street if that makes them feel better. This wasn't an assault, it was an accident, and my knee's a ruin anyway. It could have been far worse."

On the verge of screaming at him, she paused, studying his face carefully, and realised again just how good a liar he was. He would never admit that it hurt him to be so despised, not even to himself; he didn't even realise how much it had stung him. _Stubborn, proud man. _She sighed, knowing that this was an argument she would never win, and changed the subject. "Will you make it to the hospital wing?"

"That won't be necessary," he replied in a clipped tone. "I can do what is needed in my rooms."

"Why have you avoided Poppy Pomfrey since coming back to Hogwarts?" she asked quietly. "I always got the impression that you liked her." When he looked at her, she raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Severus, did you really think that I hadn't noticed?"

He returned his attention to the treacherous footing, and after a moment he sighed, not looking at her. "I did like her. She helped me a great deal as a boy, until I learned enough rudimentary Healing to tend my own injuries; she was the only staff member I was ever remotely close to. It hurt her badly when I joined the Death Eaters, but when I turned spy she welcomed me back as though nothing had happened, and she had to help treat me many times when I was too badly hurt to have managed alone. I have worked with her frequently over the years, too, as I brew almost all her potions stock."

"So what changed?" she asked softly, pretty sure that she already knew the answer but wanting to distract him from the pain of his injury.

"Everything," he replied quietly as they reached the castle and walked unhurriedly through the corridors. "Poppy forgave me so much, but she could not forgive my killing Dumbledore; nor could she forgive the horrifyingly high number of students that I personally put in the hospital wing. Not that I blame her; those were unforgiveable. Some wounds go too deep to heal."

She touched his arm. "I'm sorry."

"So am I, I think," he said reflectively. "She's a good person, and there are very few of those around." After a moment he changed the subject briskly. "How did you know something had happened?"

Hermione smiled wryly at him. "A little bird half killed himself running all the way back to Hogwarts to tell me that a crowd had gathered and seemed somewhat hostile."

He sighed with a kind of resigned humour in his expression. "I might have known. What did you do with him?"

"I gave him thirty points and left him cooling his heels in your office with instructions not to touch anything." She smiled briefly at his questioning glance. "I would have made it fifty, but I thought it might make it a little obvious that something had happened. And if I had known you were hurt I would have sent him back to the common room until you had time to talk to him."

His answering smile was wry. As they reached his office door he paused somewhat theatrically before opening it with a flourish and announcing, "As you can see, Mr Alton, I am unharmed."

Startled, the third year nearly fell off his chair as he scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir."

"The situation scarcely warranted your attempting to recreate the marathon."

Timothy kept a carefully neutral expression. "No, sir."

"Out of curiosity, Mr Alton, why did you approach Professor Granger rather than another member of staff, or the Headmistress?"

"I have no idea, sir," the boy replied innocently.

"Good." Severus eyed him thoughtfully, considering, then nodded slightly and favoured him with one of his very rare slight smiles. "Be off with you. And do try not to lose any of the points you earned today."

The whole exchange made Hermione smile, but she was more worried about Severus, as Timothy made his escape; the wizard had lost what little colour his face held, and the curious rigidity of his posture made it clear that it was sheer force of will that was keeping him on his feet. When the door to his private quarters had shut behind them, she asked worriedly, "Are you all right?"

"Not yet, but I will be," he muttered, hobbling over to the sofa and gingerly lowering himself onto it, propping his leg up along the edge of the cushions. Drawing his wand, he reopened the tears in his clothing, tapped the kneecap lightly and winced.

After watching for a moment, she asked tartly, "Are you doing this nonverbally to show off, or to annoy me?"

He glanced up with a hint of a smile. "Yes." She rolled her eyes at him and he relented, turning back to what he was doing. "I'm doing it nonverbally because there isn't actually an incantation. A lot of Healing is like that; it's about manipulating energy, rather than actual spells. I have just reversed the _Reparo _I used earlier, and now I need to realign all the fragments of bone properly before I can try to heal the joint."

"'Try' to heal it?" she repeated in some alarm. "Severus, if you can't do this properly, you need to go to the hospital wing."

He sighed and answered patiently, "Contrary to popular belief, I very seldom torture myself for the sheer hell of it. I assure you, I am not denying myself healing for any reason. It simply may not be possible to completely heal the damage – there comes a point when even magic is not enough. Sooner or later my knee will give out. At that point I will be forced to remove and regrow the bones."

"I still don't know why you haven't done that anyway. You said it wasn't worth the effort, but it would only take a single night."

Still prodding his knee – now looking somewhat bruised and swollen – he didn't look at her. "If you must know, I am allergic to Skele-Gro," he said tersely. "The only time I have ever needed to use it, I spent almost an entire week unable to eat or drink anything and in considerable discomfort – certainly I would not be able to teach. I do not wish to endure that again unless I truly must."

"Well, you could have just said so."

He snorted softly. "My medical file occupies an entire drawer of Poppy's filing cabinet; it probably weighs more than you do, and that is only the official record. I couldn't possibly tell you every detail of my medical history; I'd die of old age half way through."

"Do you know which ingredient you're allergic to? If anyone could create an alternative, you could."

Cautiously feeling his knee with his fingers, he replied, "I don't know, and I don't really want to test it and find out. I can brew it with no problems, and as I have only ever needed it once in my life, it seems rather a waste of time that could be better spent on other projects."

"Fair enough, I suppose," she conceded. "How does it feel?"

He very carefully flexed his leg, producing a horrible grinding, crunching sound. "Much as I expected."

"Now you're just being disgusting deliberately," she complained. "I know you've got a high pain threshold, but really, that wasn't necessary."

"Sorry."

"Liar."

Severus arched an eyebrow, smiling faintly in response, and shifted to stretch his bad leg out in front of him. "Once the inflammation dies down, it should be fine – as much as it ever is."

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. "Is there another reason you don't want to heal it?" she asked. "I'm reasonably sure the allergy is true – I'm getting better at picking up on it when you lie outright – but is there something else?"

"I wish you weren't so perceptive," he remarked. "It is decidedly unsettling at times."

"Nice try. Answer the question, please."

Looking more amused than anything else, he stopped being evasive and replied with unusual bluntness. "I earned my injuries. Every scar is a reminder that I wish to keep – not that I could forget anyway, but nonetheless, I want to keep the physical evidence."

"For yourself, or for other people?"

He gave her an ironic look. "I try to reduce my limp in front of others, as I am sure you have seen. Very few people have seen me without a shirt, but I use a glamour to hide the worst of the scars when necessary." His lip curled. "I see no reason to martyr myself by flaunting my injuries, and I take no pride in them."

"You should, at least most of them, but that's a different subject for another time," she replied absently, thinking about this admission. After a few moments she said softly, "You never hid them from me." She still remembered vividly their first time, and the way he had reacted when she had felt his scars – he had thought she would reject him. She had no doubt that he was good enough at glamours to hide them from all the senses, so why hadn't he? Maybe it was part of his tendency to punish himself, maybe he had almost hoped for her rejection, but that idea didn't feel right. She looked at him uncertainly and found him studying his knee determinedly, fidgeting with his wand rather than actually doing anything.

The silence grew more intense, before he finally said softly, "No, I did not."

Severus said nothing else until he had evidently healed his knee enough to satisfy him, repaired his clothing and put away his wand. Levering himself to his feet, he moved slowly around the room, gradually relaxing as his limp evened out until he was walking as easily as he usually did. She watched him in silence, knowing that this conversation wasn't finished; she wasn't the most patient person in the world, but this was a personal enough topic that it could be dangerous to push too hard. Thus far there had been surprisingly few occasions where she had accidentally pushed him too far and caused him to snap at her before pulling away, and she had no desire to add to the tally now.

Eventually he paused, and she watched his head jerk, realising that he had been about to tilt his head so that his hair hid his face but had stopped himself. It was about time he started to break himself of the habit, really, and she felt better for seeing it. Looking a little uneasy, he took a breath, apparently bracing himself – he still found any sort of personal revelation incredibly difficult.

"I didn't want to have to hide any more," he said without preamble, evidently trying to get it over with quickly. "I always hated constantly having to be on my guard, never being able to relax completely, having to maintain the glamour even in intimate situations. It always felt false. I wanted one person that I could simply be myself with, and you had been such a... a friend that I felt it was worth the risk – not that I had a wide range of possibilities to choose from," he added with a certain irony, "since you were the only one I saw regularly." After a moment of indecision, he continued more softly, "I did not expect your reaction."

"I know," she replied equally softly. "You expected me to pity you, to be horrified, perhaps even disgusted." He nodded stiffly, and she considered her next words. "I was a little horrified – I knew you had suffered, but knowing it and seeing it are different things, and what you must have endured was worth a little horror. But I have never pitied you; there's a difference between sympathy and pity... and no scar could make you ugly, Severus. They don't disgust me. They're just a part of you, and they are symbols of your courage. I can't really picture you without your scars – it wouldn't be you."

"I was ugly long before the first scar," he replied with a sneer; he might as well have shouted his discomfort with the subject.

Letting him change the direction of the conversation, Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled at him. "You weren't a terribly attractive child, no," she agreed mildly, "and you're not exactly conventionally handsome. But that's not the same as ugly, especially since a lot of your appearance became deliberate on your part, one aspect of your mask. You are far from unattractive – unless you're insulting my taste in men?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Ronald Weasley," he remarked pointedly.

"Hmph. I was a teenager. And really, he wasn't that bad, not then. He had grown up. He seems to have regressed now, admittedly, but I assure you he wasn't like that when I was with him." She smiled a little wistfully. "I don't regret it, really, but I do wish it hadn't ended so badly. I didn't want to lose him as a friend. In hindsight, there was never a future for us."

"I am hardly in a position to cast aspersions on relationship choices," he conceded in another very familiar not-apology. "My own record is spectacularly less than stellar, after all."

"Your circumstances were somewhat unusual. And really, anyone seeing Ron now would wonder what the hell I was thinking," she admitted with a wry grin. "I suppose they would wonder the same thing about you, come to that, but that's because people are, collectively, fairly stupid. It doesn't have anything to do with your looks, though – you're far more attractive than you think."

About to say something – judging by his expression, something scathing – he paused and smiled slightly. "I seem to recall saying something similar to you once before," he observed.

"I think we both have a few issues with self esteem," she agreed dryly, smiling back at him. "Maybe we should start complimenting one another more. Writing flowery poetry to one another, that sort of thing – after all, it _is _Valentine's Day today."

Severus chuckled softly. "The sun will burn out before that happens, I assure you," he said. "My one attempt at writing poetry was not a success." He paused and smiled suddenly. "Ironically, it ended up being written for you, although I didn't know it at the time."

She stared at him blankly before realising what he was talking about and laughing. "The riddle. I'd almost forgotten that you wrote it."

He snorted. "The actual riddle took me a couple of hours once I thought of the idea, and I already had the poison and the wine. The two potions took me a little over a day. Making the damned thing rhyme properly – at Dumbledore's insistence, naturally – took me almost a month, and by the end of it I was ready to strangle him with his own beard."

Still laughing, she asked, "Was there a reason for it to rhyme, or was he just being perverse?"

"He was just being perverse," he replied, shaking his head, his expression somewhere between disgusted and amused. "Admittedly, that may have been a reaction to my gloating when he couldn't work the puzzle out."

"Really? He couldn't solve it?" Hermione couldn't help feeling a little smug at that.

He smiled, remembering. "He did eventually, but it took him some time, and he required a quill and parchment to help him. As I recall, it took you about ten minutes," he added ruefully.

"No, it was longer than that. I got lucky. And I told you, Muggles like logic puzzles of that sort."

Severus gave her an amused look. "And yet you did miss the most logical solution."

"Which was?" she asked, puzzled.

He smirked. "You could have simply sniffed each bottle to determine which ones held nettle wine, which would have told you which bottles held poison, and worked it out from there. Neither the potions nor the poisons had any particular odour, nor would the vapour have harmed you, and the wine was old and strong."

She glared at him. "I didn't know what the poison was. It could have given off toxic fumes, for all I knew."

"But it didn't occur to you to try it, did it?" he asked silkily.

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, Quirrell worked it out, didn't he?"

"No," he replied with another contemptuous snort. "He already knew about my contribution to the defences. He had no head for logic, and nor did the Dark Lord, fortunately for all concerned."

"He was a bit short-sighted," Hermione agreed thoughtfully. "It occurred to me years ago – if he'd just made all the Death Eaters swear an Unbreakable Vow not to betray him when they took the Mark, he'd have won. You wouldn't have been able to change sides without dying, and Harry would never have survived long enough to fulfil the prophecy without you. You'd think someone as paranoid as Snake-face would have thought of that, really," she added reflectively.

He blinked, before starting to laugh. "God, you're absolutely right. But his biggest flaw was his arrogance; there is no doubt that he expected some of his followers to turn on him, to try and save their own skins – although he certainly never considered more altruistic motives – but he was so confident in his own abilities that he assumed he would detect such thoughts immediately; indeed, he did just that, many times. He knew of my talents, but he believed himself a stronger Legilimens than I was an Occlumens. And I gave him no reason to doubt my loyalty," he added with a faintly sickened expression; she opened her mouth to say something, but he shook off the bleak mood that threatened before she could speak, and continued briskly, "He always believed himself more powerful than he actually was."

"It's such a little thing, to have controlled so much," she said slowly.

Severus gave her a thoughtful look. "Little things are important," he said quietly. "Taking examples from my own life – had Potter Senior's conscience pricked him only a minute or two later than it did, I would have been killed by Lupin. Had I lashed out at Lily with any other insult imaginable, one that did not carry overtones of Death Eater propaganda, she might eventually have forgiven me, and I might never have chosen the dark – or at least would have gone to it far later than I actually did – and who knows what that would have changed? Had I been able to look past the sins of the father, Potter might not have hated me as much as he did, and I could have aided him a little more. Had the Headmaster listened to me and not allowed the final Triwizard trial to go ahead, it is possible – albeit unlikely, I admit – that the Dark Lord might not have been able to return; at the very least, Mr Diggory would not have died. Had Dumbledore had the sense to tell someone else that he was dying, or even to leave an 'open upon my death' letter with someone, the final year of the war would have been a great deal easier, not only for me personally but for all our side. Had your train been delayed by even a couple of minutes, we would not have met in Waterloo, and there is no knowing what might have become of me," he added softly.

"But once you start on what-might-have-been, you can't stop," she replied, thinking. "If Ron hadn't been such a prat to me in the first year, I wouldn't have gone off by myself, and the boys wouldn't have come after me – we wouldn't have been attacked by the troll, and we wouldn't have become friends. I wouldn't have been there to help Harry. Or what if I had allowed the Sorting Hat to put me in Ravenclaw, or if Harry had let himself be Sorted into Slytherin?" She blinked. "What if you'd been Sorted into a different House, come to that? You wouldn't have learned to survive half so well if you hadn't been in Slytherin... and I remember your face when Dumbledore suggested that you could have been Sorted elsewhere."

He looked pleased, surprisingly. "You spotted that, did you? I don't believe that the old man ever realised how badly he had insulted me. He meant it for a compliment, after all – but he was still implying that I would have had to have been a Gryffindor to be worth anything, as if Slytherins couldn't earn merit in and of themselves."

"Did the Hat give you a choice of Houses?" she asked interestedly. "It seems to, for most students."

"It always gives a choice of two, unless it is painfully obvious that there is only one possible option, and allows the student's subconscious preference to influence the final choice. Few students openly argue with it," he explained dryly. "My Sorting wasn't quite that straightforward, and my opinion was not asked for. Time is relative during the Sorting, since outwardly it only lasts a few seconds, but it took a long time for it to decide where to place me."

"I can imagine," Hermione agreed slowly. "You have qualities from all the Houses – even Hufflepuff," she added teasingly, and saw him smile slightly in response. "You have their loyalty and stubbornness – and you're caring, even though you pretend not to be. You're as intelligent, logical and analytical as any Ravenclaw, and far braver than most Gryffindors. And you're a powerful survivor with a twisty mind who wanted to prove himself. Yes, I can see why the Hat didn't know where to put you."

His eyes had softened, and he smiled almost uncertainly in response, looking somewhere between pleased and embarrassed. "Well, anyway," he muttered, "little things are important."

* * *

That evening she remembered his words again, as she lay curled up comfortably in his arms. Neither of them was asleep yet, but she was tired enough that it wouldn't be too long before she nodded off; in the meantime, she was thinking. Little things _were _important. Certainly, as far as her feelings for Severus went, the little everyday things were as important as the larger concerns.

It was small innocent things like knowing about his favoured foods – knowing that he was indifferent to chocolate unless it was flavoured with either cherry or ginger, both of which he adored. That he didn't like most sweets at all, except for old-fashioned aniseed balls or barley sugar, and that he hated sherbet lemons – for their association, rather than the actual taste. That he took his coffee black, and if he took sugar at all it had to be brown sugar. That he didn't like any variety of normal tea, although he didn't object to fruit or herbal teas, but surprisingly did like hot chocolate – with full fat milk or, better yet, with cream. That he didn't drink alcohol much; he made a show of liking expensive wine in front of other people, but left to himself preferred traditional real ale (that one had been a surprise) or aged French cognac – unless he wanted to get drunk, when any raw spirit would do. That he had developed a taste for Red Bull during one of his all-night brewing sessions when they had created his nerve treatment last year – she had bought him a can of it as a joke and now he always drank it if he was working intensively and needed to do without sleep for a while.

It was knowing his everyday habits and little quirks; that he made his own soap and shampoo because he didn't like the chemical smell of commercial products, and preferred shaving by hand with an old cut-throat razor rather than using a charm or even a more modern blade. That he liked the natural world enough that there were dried flowers or herbs in every room somewhere. That the only subject at school he had never achieved an Outstanding in was Care of Magical Creatures – in fact, he had quit during the first year of study, after a number of carefully unspecified incidents that he refused to elaborate on, much as she had with Divination – and he had taken Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, just as she had. That his favoured music was soft rock or classic pop, followed by jazz, but he didn't like anything heavy despite growing up in the punk and metal era and wasn't particularly fond of country music. That he would read almost anything with the zeal of the true bibliophile; he liked detective stories, provided that they were gentle, clever ones such as Inspector Morse and Sherlock Holmes, he hated Dickens and _Wuthering Heights _but didn't object to Austen or _Jane Eyre, _he thought Shakespeare was largely overratedand he was surprisingly fond of poetry. That he talked to Crookshanks the same way she did, as though the cat was another human.

Knowing that most of his clothes were neutral colours, black, white or grey, sometimes navy, brown or cream; that he didn't actually own much green at all. That he bizarrely liked t-shirts with Muggle cartoon characters or rock band logos on them, normally hidden beneath more formal buttoned shirts at school. That he usually wore odd socks because all his socks were plain and dark and he could never be bothered to sort them into exact pairs. That he had briefly as a teenager had both his ear and his eyebrow pierced. That he absolutely hated red and owned no red clothing, not because of the Gryffindor connection – although that was there – but because it reminded him of blood; once she had realised that, she had altered all her red clothes to shades closer to purple, pink or burgundy. That he actively preferred her without any makeup on – unlike most men, he wasn't saying it because he thought she wanted to hear it, but because he genuinely disliked cosmetics and had told her with perfect sincerity that they only hid her true looks and turned her appearance into something fake and tawdry (and also because he didn't like the way they made her skin taste).

And it was knowing his body intimately, too – knowing that there was a place on his back between his shoulder blades where she could run a fingernail along his spine between the scars that made him arch into it like a cat being stroked, knowing that he disliked any contact at all with his neck but enjoyed – or at least didn't object to – feeling her teeth and nails virtually anywhere else as long as it didn't truly hurt. Knowing that there was a scar on his hip that ached on cold days and that it was that rather than his knee that bothered him in winter, knowing that he liked the way she said his name in a particular tone of voice, and that he had an inexplicable weakness for feeling her fingers winding through his hair and for doing the same to her. That when he was especially deep in thought about something he traced his index finger across his upper lip, and when he was concentrating he traced the gap of his missing tooth with his tongue, and when he was in a towering fury a vein pulsed in his temple, and when he was truly upset a tic jumped under his right eye. That he liked to sleep partly on his right side and partly on his back, at an almost twisted angle that always looked uncomfortable to her but apparently worked for him – at least, that had been true; these days he seemed to prefer sleeping spooned around her. And, of course, knowing that he still cried in his sleep almost every night, although not for as long as he used to.

It was being able to accurately read his silences and knowing whether he was tired, angry, pleased or uncertain even when he didn't say anything; or noticing the tiniest, subtlest changes in his eyes that nobody else would see, much less be able to interpret. It was knowing that he disliked any attempt to shorten his name; he had only ever allowed Lily to get away with it, and only because he hadn't had the confidence to tell her that he hated being called 'Sev' – that wasn't a problem, since Hermione rather liked the sound of his full name. It was knowing that despite the apparent contradiction he managed to be both extremely possessive and at the same time utterly free of jealousy – he didn't like her spending time with her male friends, but mostly because he thought they were idiots, admittedly with some justification, and because he wanted her to spend the time with him instead; he certainly didn't believe there was anything there except friendship. It was knowing that he trusted her with his life.

Little things were important.

* * *

Eventually Hermione finally managed to write a letter to her parents that she was more or less happy with; Severus had offered to write himself, if she wanted, simply saying that he was a friend of hers and that she wanted to contact them but wasn't sure what to say, but she had told him not to. Now she scanned the fairly brief letter apprehensively. "They probably won't even open it," she muttered. "They'll recognise my handwriting and probably shred it."

"You won't know unless you send it," he replied logically, getting up from his desk and padding over to stand behind her and read over her shoulder. It was pretty straightforward; she had simply said that she had recently found out their current address and just wanted to let them know that she was all right, that she was teaching at Hogwarts and could be contacted there if necessary, and that she hoped they were both well and that she loved them. There wasn't really much else to say until she knew whether or not they would respond. "Send it by Muggle post, if you're really worried," he suggested. "It might make a better impression than having an owl show up; I imagine it's been rather a long time since they received any magical post."

"That's a good idea. Thank you." Twisting in her chair, she smiled up at him before nodding towards his desk. "Speaking of owl post, what was that little lot?"

He grimaced. "Publication administrators. I'm trying to get someone interested in some of the healing potions I used to treat myself after the Shack; many were modified and one was my own creation."

"Is that the bezoar derivative you mentioned? That sounded interesting, but I had so many other things to ask you that I never got around to it."

"Imagine my surprise," he murmured, smiling slightly. "Yes. I found a way to render a bezoar into liquid form. I've got a rough draft of the article somewhere if you want to read it."

"I'd love to." She grinned mischievously at him. "I might even scribble nasty comments in red ink in the margins."

Severus snorted inelegantly at her and replied loftily, "You would find nothing to criticise."

"If you say so. I thought those letters might be from the parents you wrote to last month, actually..."

"Oh, no, they all replied within a few days. Much to McGonagall's irritation, they all agreed with my actions," he added with a smirk. "I imagine the holidays will be a little uncomfortable for those three."

"Oh, dear," she replied sarcastically, and he chuckled softly as he returned to his work.

"Careful; you're starting to sound like me."

* * *

The following week, she woke early and found herself alone. That in itself wasn't unusual; Severus was still an insomniac at times, although far better than he used to be, and on really bad nights when he absolutely could not sleep he often got up and went outside for a cigarette or simply settled in the living room with a book, where he could read without disturbing her until he felt tired enough to come back to bed. But his side of the bed (and when had they progressed to having their own sides of the bed? She didn't remember any discussion of it) was cold, and if he had gone for a cigarette then he would have been back before it cooled completely; and there was a sense that his rooms were empty.

Wrapping her dressing gown around her and unearthing her slippers, she padded out of the bedroom to investigate. His quarters were dark and clearly deserted, but she could hear music, and realised that there was a dim light showing under the door that hid the staircase down to his private laboratory. Curious to know what could possibly be so important at four o'clock in the morning, she slipped down the stairs as quietly as she could manage, although she realised half way down that there was no way he could hear her over the music – Death Cab for Cutie, an American band he had shamelessly stolen from her; he'd never heard of them until he had raided her music collection one day. In fact, he was singing along, she realised a moment later, and promptly sat down on the steps near the bottom of the staircase to listen.

She was amused to recognise the song; it was 'Where Soul Meets Body,' one of her own favourites. Hugging her knees to try and keep warm as the chill of the stone began to creep through her clothes, she saw that the door was ajar and gingerly nudged it wandlessly until she could see more of the lab. Biting her lip to stop herself giggling, she wondered what the world would think if they could see the notorious Potions master now; he had raked his hair back messily into a short ponytail to keep it out of the way and he was wearing one of his favourite t-shirts – a somewhat ragged khaki one emblazoned with a large picture of Wile E Coyote holding up a small sign that said '_Help!_' –and a pair of faded black tracksuit trousers. He was absently singing along to the music, carefully stirring the contents of a small crucible, and was almost completely unrecognisable as Severus Snape.

The song finished; as the first notes of the next track began to play, he absently flicked a hand towards the computer without looking up from what he was doing, and Death Cab started again. Hermione frowned, watching him; she knew most of his favourite songs by this point, and this wasn't one of them, but even if it was it was very unusual for him to repeat a track. Maybe it wouldn't have meant much to anyone else, but Severus was extremely set in his ways, and if he deviated from any of his usual habits in the smallest degree then it meant something.

After three repetitions of the song, he let the music continue as it would, paying more attention to whatever he was doing than to the music. The contents of the crucible had thickened to a greenish-white goo the texture of clotted cream and she had no idea what it was. Standing, she opened the door properly and walked in. "Severus, you do realise that it's half past four in the morning, don't you?"

Apparently a little startled by her appearance – and she could count the times she had managed to sneak up on him on one hand – he blinked at her before smiling apologetically. "Yes. I am sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't. I got cold," she added, mock-pouting at him.

He smirked. "Sorry. I had a sudden inspiration and wanted to try it before I forgot."

She padded closer and slid an arm around his waist, leaning into his warmth as she examined the finished product. "What is it?"

"Version seven of the scar ointment I've been working on."

"It's a different colour; what's the green in it?"

"Wintergreen; I remembered earlier that it is supposed to have hex-breaking properties, so it seemed logical that it would be useful in treating scars caused by hexes."

"It smells a lot nicer than the last batch, anyway," she said with feeling.

"Do stop complaining, woman," Severus grumbled, smiling a little. "Nobody made you touch it, you know."

"And just how did you plan to apply it to the scars on your back without help?" she asked sarcastically, grinning at him before examining the slowly cooling ointment. "I thought you wanted something more like an oil. Or was that just for fun?"

He snorted, his smile broadening despite his efforts to scowl. "It was for a legitimate reason, I'll have you know; an oil would be absorbed into the skin more easily. If this formula seems to work, I may alter the consistency to make it more efficient, but there's no point until it has been tested."

"I don't see why this was necessary at four in the morning, though. You could have just made a note to try it at a normal time, like a sane person would have done."

"I was awake anyway, and you admitted that I didn't wake you when I got up."

"I was _cold,_" she repeated.

He smirked again, raising an eyebrow. "And what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Warm me up, of course," Hermione told him, before losing patience with the game and turning from the workbench to reach up and cup his face in her hands, standing on tiptoe and pulling his head down to kiss him. He wavered for a moment, clearly about to pull away and keep teasing, and she promptly hooked her foot around his right leg and dug her heel into the back of his bad knee, pulling him far enough off balance that she could keep him where he stood with just her hand at the back of his neck.

When she finally broke the kiss, he gave her a disapproving look. "That was cheating."

"I'm just following your example," she retorted.

"Nonsense. No Slytherin would be so terribly obvious."

"The Gryffindor way saves time. Now stop arguing, put your toys away for tonight and come back to bed."

He arched an eyebrow, regarding her in some amusement. "You do recall that I am twenty years older than you, I trust?"

"But men are emotionally and mentally less mature than women," she explained, as though it was perfectly logical. Giving him a mischievous smile, she added fondly, "And you do act like a boy with a new toy when you're focused on your potions."

"Whereas your reaction to a new book is the height of mature restraint?" he drawled mockingly in return, heat beginning to creep into his eyes as his control began to slide. She loved seeing this, loved watching that iron-solid shield growing weaker just because of her. It didn't matter that she was wearing an oversized t-shirt and her old flannel dressing gown and her ratty-looking slippers that Crookshanks kept mauling, or that her hair was a sleep-tousled mess of tangles that a comb would get stuck in and vanish without trace, or anything else; because Severus thought she was beautiful, and he wanted her.

She only smiled at him in response, happy to yield the last word to him this time, and after a moment he smiled back at her – a true smile, one she doubted anyone else had seen from him since he was a boy, warmer and more affectionate than anyone would believe he was capable of. Reaching up, she gently tugged free the tie that temporarily held his hair back and ran her fingers through the dark strands as he wrapped his arms around her, lowering his head to kiss her equally gently in return.

"Still cold?" he murmured in her ear in the velvet purr that never failed to make her shiver.

"Freezing," she whispered in reply, and heard him chuckle throatily before his hands slid down her back to her hips; she felt his muscles tense and laughed softly as he picked her up, apparently without effort. Held securely in his arms, she nonverbally and wandlessly silenced his laptop and extinguished all the lights except for the one at the head of the stairs, and he laughed quietly in response.

"Showing off, are we?" he murmured, tightening his embrace as he moved easily across the lab and began to climb the stairs. "I believe I have one or two tricks of my own to demonstrate, in that case..."

* * *

_More fanart, courtesy of **frusie**: _jeanswear dot deviantart dot com /#/d3b76ak


	25. Chapter 25

_Moving on, then..__.  


* * *

_

**"****I found a picture**  
**Our so-called family tree, yeah**  
**I broke all the branches, looking for answers**  
**Don't you know that ain't how it's supposed to be**...**"**  
– Bon Jovi, 'I Want To Be Loved'.

* * *

Severus moved through the living room without appearing to pay much attention to his surroundings, sorting through his post as he walked.

"You're dripping all over the floor," Hermione informed him, glancing up from her book.

"It's raining outside."

"You shouldn't go out in it, then."

"So you keep saying. Here, I detoured via your office and brought your post." He dropped the pile of slightly damp letters on the sofa beside her, dumped his own mail on the desk and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom, presumably to change out of his wet clothing.

Smiling fondly – it was ridiculously amusing that they sometimes argued like an old married couple, and she'd drink Bubotuber pus before she admitted that she thought it was sweet – she briskly sorted through her letters. The latest edition of the _Quibbler, _complete with a note from Luna – she'd read that later and send back her comments. Ron's untidy scrawl; presumably he was belatedly thanking her for his birthday present. A short letter in Ginny's handwriting; she probably wanted to meet up for a chat about something. The latest Flourish & Blott's catalogue, which she put to one side since Severus would want to see it as well. And a Muggle letter, which was unusual... She turned the envelope over and the world spun as she focused on the handwriting.

_Oh, God._

It had been almost six weeks; she had tried to forget about it, almost managing to convince herself that they weren't going to answer. Her chest tightened painfully as she stared at the innocent envelope. Swallowing hard, she raised her voice hesitantly.

"Severus?"

"What?" he called from the bedroom.

"Can you... come here for a moment, please?"

He was frowning when he came into view, which was usually his version of looking concerned. Typically, he didn't waste his breath asking if something was wrong, or _what _specifically was wrong; he simply looked at her and waited for a hint. Wordlessly she held out the letter to him, and his frown deepened as he came forward and took it, studying the stamp and the postmark before raising an eyebrow as he handed it back. "This is..."

She nodded. "It's my mother's handwriting."

Severus glanced between the letter and her face, his almost wary attitude saying louder than any words that he wasn't quite sure of the emotional currents here and was being careful. After a moment he remarked, "Well, unless Miss Lovegood has sent you another pair of x-ray glasses – a pair that actually work – you'll need to open it to find out what it says." Despite the offhand tone, she could sense his concern, but their usual banter couldn't make her smile this morning. Sensing it, he paused, before offering cautiously, "It won't be anything bad, Hermione. They would not have answered unless they wanted to talk to you, I am sure."

"You don't know my parents. My mother is polite; she always answers letters, no matter who writes them. She even answers junk mail, sometimes." She hesitated. "Can you read it for me, please? If – if it's anything bad, I don't really want to know."

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. "It may be personal."

"That's okay." She tried to smile at him. "Just... summarise it for me, please?"

His expression was carefully neutral as he took the letter over to his desk and sat down, slitting the envelope and unfolding the letter. There was only one sheet of paper inside, covered in dense writing, and he settled down to read slowly. The silence was almost unbearably tense as Hermione watched his face, hoping for a clue; she might as well not have bothered, since as always his expression told her absolutely nothing. He was a quick reader, naturally, and it was only a few moments later that he looked up, folding the letter once more, but it felt like a lifetime.

He offered her a faint half-smile, and she froze, not quite daring to relax. Standing, he came back over to her and held out the letter once more. "It's nothing bad. It sounds like she spent quite some time writing it."

"You're sure?" she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

"Just read it, woman," he told her in an exasperated tone. "It won't bite, I assure you." Trying to stop her fingers from trembling, she took the letter from him, and he returned to the desk to sort through his own mail. Swallowing, she unfolded the paper.

* * *

_Dear Hermione_

_We were relieved to hear from you, after so long. Your father and I have often considered trying to contact you again; truthfully, we weren't sure whether you would still be at your old address. No, that's an excuse – I know we could have written to the school for your contact details. We weren't sure whether you would want us to. Our parting was very harsh, and we owe you an apology._

_That sounds pathetic. Daddy is reading this as I write, and he's laughing. An apology isn't enough. We didn't understand just what you had done, or why, but you're our daughter and we should have trusted you enough to let you explain properly. I know you tried, but from what you said you had been through a terrible time, and you weren't quite yourself. Perhaps, now, you can tell us the whole story?_

_And you're a teacher now! We didn't think you'd like government work very much, but neither of us thought you would go into teaching. Which subject do you teach, or wouldn't we understand? Your lessons always sounded so fantastical when you wrote to us about them._

_We both want to try and put things right again, but there's so much we must have missed, and so much we need to tell you. However did you manage to find us? We left our address with our solicitor in England, but he wouldn't give it out without permission. Please, my dear, write back and let us know how you're getting on, and your friends._

_With love_

_Mum and Dad.

* * *

_

By the time she was aware of the real world again, Hermione found herself alone, except for Crookshanks, who was perched on the arm of the sofa and watching her; Severus had tactfully disappeared. There was a mug on the table by her elbow, and she knew without even looking that it contained coffee with semi-skimmed milk and one sugar, just the way she liked it, and charmed to stay at the perfect temperature. He had also pointedly left her a couple of tissues, and she couldn't help smiling as she dried her eyes and blew her nose. "He knows me far too well, Crooks," she told the cat as she picked up the coffee. "So do you, come to that. The letter was from Mum and Dad. I don't know if they've forgiven me yet, but we're talking, so that's something. I'll send them your love when I next write, shall I?"

The cat purred softly, walking delicately along the back of the sofa and sniffing her ear. Smothering a giggle, Hermione turned to stroke him. "Don't do that. Your whiskers tickle. Did Severus go down to the lab?"

"He did," the man himself confirmed from the doorway. "And he would have been quite happy to stay there, but sadly the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw third years have a test this morning, unfortunately for them." Looking at him, she noted that he was wearing his teaching robes, and had a thick folder under his arm. "I trust you feel better now?"

"You missed all the foolish, Gryffindor tears," she assured him. "It's quite safe now."

"Don't be absurd."

Smiling, she stood and walked over to him, reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair and pull his head down for a kiss. "Thank you, Severus."

"What on earth for?"

"If you hadn't found them, I wouldn't have this chance." Knowing that he still sometimes grew uncomfortable when he was thanked for anything, she didn't give him a chance to respond, kissing him again before saying lightly, "Now go and torture some third years. Have fun; just remember, no bloodshed."

He snorted. "If I managed to restrain myself from murdering your entire class, including you I might add, I'm sure I can survive this bunch. I'll see you later."

Smiling as she watched him leave, Hermione considered leaving the door to his office ajar; sometimes it was possible to hear his classes, and she liked listening to him in full teaching mode. Deciding against it, she settled at the desk instead and began writing a reply.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad_

_I'm just happy you wrote back; I've been arguing with myself for months because I wasn't sure whether to write or not. Yes, we do need to talk things through – looking back, I really wasn't quite right then, and it's no wonder I made a bit of a mess of things. But first things first. Crookshanks is still with me, by the way – it seems I was right when I said he might have a bit of magical creature in him; he seems as lively as ever. He's just jumped into my lap, actually, which makes writing this a bit difficult._

_That last line made me smile, Mum – by 'my friends', you really mean 'my young man, if he's still around' don't you? I'm sorry, but no, I'm not with Ron any more. We decided we were better off as friends. He's well, though, he's enjoying his job. And Harry's okay, too; he's married, with two children (and probably a third on the way soon)._

_I know you're wondering whether I've settled down or not – I can see you looking at each other. Dad, stop laughing. That brings me to your other question – how did I find you? Well, I didn't. Someone close to me did, entirely on his own, just before Christmas; I nearly had heart failure when he gave me your address. I'm not sure how he did it; he wouldn't tell me all the details, but I know he even went to Australia to track you down. So, yes, there is someone in my life. Only it's quite a complicated situation; he's... not the sort of man you always hoped I'd end up with, shall we say. I think you'd like him, but I don't know if you'll approve at first._

_It's a bit mean if I leave it there, isn't it? I'll tell you a few things about him. He's a wizard, a half-blood – I don't know if you remember what that means; it means one of his parents was magical, but the other wasn't. He's older than me (that's one of the things I'm not quite sure you'll like). I've known him for a long time, but we've only been together since June. He's very intelligent; I'll never tell him, but he's a lot smarter than I am. He's got a wicked sense of humour. I could go on for pages about him, but I'll save that for another letter. I'm sure you want a full description, Mum, but I'll save that for another time too – he's tall (but not as tall as you, Daddy) and he has black hair and dark eyes. _

_Anyway, enough about him for now. I don't blame you for being surprised that I'm a teacher now; I never really thought I would be either, but now that I am, I'm really enjoying it. I teach Muggle Studies – teaching young witches and wizards how people live without magic. I don't know if you remember, but I dropped it at the end of my third year, because the teacher got a lot of things wrong. It's only part time at the moment, but I'm working with the Headmistress, and in a year or two we hope to be able to make it a core subject for all the students._

_And what are you doing in France, anyway? Well, I know you've got your own dentistry practice, which is wonderful and I'm really happy for you both, but why France? Write back soon._

_Love_

_Hermione.

* * *

_

She re-read the finished letter and nodded, satisfied. She wanted to tell them all about Severus, but it was definitely best to work her way up to that; they weren't going to like hearing that he had been her teacher for six years, and they definitely weren't going to like learning that he was only four or five years younger than they were. She would need time before getting into an argument. And she wasn't going to tell them everything anyway; she couldn't possibly explain that yes, he was a mass-murderer, but only technically because he had had valid and important reasons for torturing and killing people. The wizarding world didn't work the way the Muggle world did, and she couldn't explain that.

Despite that, she felt extremely happy as she sealed the envelope and addressed it. She hadn't let herself realise how much she'd missed her parents, and she couldn't possibly hope to repay Severus for giving her the chance to put things right after all these years.

Her good mood only increased throughout the morning as she worked her way through the rest of her letters. Ron's letter was, for once, completely free of anything likely to start a row; he'd been thrilled with his present and had several funny stories about various family members. Luna's letter was the same as ever, and she wrote her usual response to the _Quibbler _articles before telling her the news about her parents. Ginny's letter made her squeal aloud in delight, scaring a sleeping Crookshanks into hissing at her and earning herself a flat and faintly incredulous glare from Severus, who had just returned from classes.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked disdainfully.

"Yes," she informed him, waving the letter. "It's from Ginny; she thinks she _might_ be pregnant again."

He scowled. "'Again'?" he repeated.

Hermione blinked. "Oh... I thought you knew... They have two children already, a boy and a girl."

"Why would I have known that?" he asked.

"Good point. I thought I'd told you."

He shrugged, dumping the stack of completed test papers into his in-tray to be marked later and undoing his robe. "So in a few years I will have to teach Potter's brats. How wonderful."

She winced. "It'll be even worse than you're imagining," she said softly, realising that he wasn't going to like hearing this – she really had thought he already knew.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"They're called James and Lily." Not only that, but they _looked _like James and Lily, as far as anyone knew, although at least neither of them had inherited those notorious green eyes.

To her relief, he simply looked contemptuous as he turned away to hang his robe over the back of the chair. "The boy never did have much imagination. I would have expected better of Ginevra, though."

"Well, the third one won't be named quite so obviously, I don't think," she said hesitantly, remembering what Ginny had asked her before Christmas. "In fact... if it's a boy... they – they want to name him after you."

He froze. Hermione watched his back apprehensively; she had told Ginny the truth, she really didn't know how he was going to react to this idea. The tension in his shoulders wasn't a good sign. "I beg your pardon?" he said quietly.

Taking a breath, she repeated steadily, "Harry and Ginny want to name their third child after you, if it's a boy."

It was quite some time before Severus responded to that, and when he did, his voice was distant. "What a dreadful thing to do to a child."

"Severus!"

"I'm serious," he said flatly. "That's a terrible burden for a boy to bear. It would be like naming a Muggle boy after Eichmann or Himmler."

"God, don't say that!"

"Why not? It's the truth. People throw stones and spit at me in the street, Hermione. I am a Death Eater and a murderer; any boy named after me would have to endure far worse than having the Mark drawn on his arm. His schooldays would be as hellish as mine were, through no fault of his own. That isn't something any child should have to face."

She hadn't seen such bitterness or anger in his eyes for a long time. The worst part was that if she was honest with herself, she knew he was right; a child named after him _would _suffer and would probably spend his entire life fighting against the stigma, especially since the world as a whole didn't know the true Severus. That was horribly unfair, but it was true, and it was certainly one of the myriad reasons why he didn't want children of his own. "Severus..."

He shook his head. "Don't," he said, almost wearily. "You know I'm right. Let it go. Write to Potter if you must; tell him... tell him anything you like. Say I appreciate the gesture, say it brought a tear to my eyes, I don't care. Just tell him not to do it, for the boy's sake if nothing else."

"All right," she said quietly, watching as he disappeared through the door to the lab. _Well, that didn't go very well. _Sighing, she turned back to the desk. "I guess I'd better write to Ginny, then," she told Crookshanks softly.

* * *

She met her red-headed friend for coffee two days later. "Well?"

"False alarm this time," Ginny said cheerfully, "but you know what my family are like – it probably won't be long. Snape wasn't keen on the idea, I take it? Your letter wasn't very specific."

"No... I wanted to talk about it, rather than write. He... well, his reaction was a bit strange. You should feel proud; I think you genuinely managed to shock him."

"But it was a no?"

"Not for the reason I was expecting." Hermione sighed. "His first words – once he realised that he hadn't misheard me – were 'what a dreadful thing to do to a child'."

Ginny blinked. "Really?"

"Really; and... Much as I hate to admit it, he might have a point. He's still hated by just about everyone. A boy named after him wouldn't have an easy time of it, and that's an understatement." She lowered her voice. "Back in February, he was actually attacked in Hogsmeade. I missed the actual event, but apparently it was unpleasant. People spit at him and throw things when he's recognised in places like Diagon Alley."

Her friend hissed like an angry cat. "I didn't know that. I don't like the man, and I doubt I ever will, but I can at least respect what he achieved, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Is there no way to stop it?"

"Short of giving him his own armed guard, no, and to be honest he's such a skilled duellist that it would be a bit redundant. Besides... he doesn't really see anything wrong with it. I think part of him feels that it's no more than he deserves. Anyway, his point was that if you did name your son after him, the boy would have a very bad time. He doesn't want that for any child – not even one related to Harry," she added with a certain rueful irony. She didn't think that Severus hated Harry any more, but it was difficult to overcome that much history; old habits did die hard, after all.

"He really is pretty messed up, isn't he?" Ginny said quietly.

"You have no idea," Hermione said with feeling. "But on this occasion I think he's right. It would be a lovely gesture on your parts, and I think that in his own way he was quite touched by the idea – although he'd never admit it in a thousand years – but it wouldn't be fair to the boy."

"I didn't quite realise how bad things were. I suppose you're right; I'll talk to Harry. He'll be disappointed, though – he really does feel guilty about Snape, you know. Maybe there's some way to get around it – to be honest, I was never really keen on the name _Severus _anyway," Ginny admitted wryly. "Especially since neither of the others have a 'traditional' name. What was his father's name?"

"Don't go there, Gin. Severus absolutely hated his father, with good reason."

"Was there anyone in his life that he didn't hate, apart from Harry's mother?"

"That's not really fair, Ginny."

"No, all right. I'm sorry. But you didn't have to live with Harry after he found out everything. It really... crushed him, for a long time. You know how he is with guilt, and he completely and totally misjudged Snape so many times. We all did, really, but it hit Harry very hard."

Hermione sighed. "I know."

"How is Snape now?"

"I've barely seen him. He's been in a really funny mood since we had that conversation – I think you really did shock him badly. And I think it set him off thinking about his parents, and about being bullied at school, although I can't be sure unless he admits it – which is about as likely as the castle suddenly turning into a giant marshmallow."

"Is George due for a visit? If not, you're probably safe."

"Very funny."

"What's new with you, anyway? You said you'd written to your parents..."

She smiled. "Yes, and they wrote back."

"Really?" Ginny exclaimed. "Oh, 'Mione, that's wonderful. How's it going?"

"Carefully, at the moment. We've got a lot of news to catch up on before we move on to the serious talking. But it's a start, you know? I feel quite optimistic about it. Although telling them about _him _is going to be difficult... they're not going to like the age difference. He's only a couple of years younger than they are." Not to mention all the other problems that she couldn't tell Ginny yet.

"You'll deal with it," Ginny replied confidently. "If your mother's anything like mine, she'll be so thrilled that you've found 'the one' that she'll be too busy mentally planning who to invite to your wedding to care what he's actually like."

Despite her private misgivings, Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds about right, actually. I'm not planning to tell her that he's 'the one' for a while yet, for just that reason. I think the strongest thing I said was that there was 'someone close to me' and that I'd go into more detail another time."

"Oho!" the younger woman cried triumphantly. "You're admitting now that he _is _'the one'?"

"Oh, stop it," she protested weakly. "I keep telling you it's complicated."

"Don't talk such rubbish, 'Mione, you're too smart to get away with it. I've never seen you like this about anyone. Can't you just admit that you're hopelessly in love with him?"

"That part isn't the problem."

Her friend regarded her seriously. "You still won't tell me who he is, will you."

"No, not yet, Ginny. I want to try and mend things with my parents before I risk losing my friends."

"I still can't see who's so bad that you think we'd all hate you, not from your description."

Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn't help but feel a stab of irritation. Ginny was very clever; if she had just sat down and thought for five minutes she would have reached the same conclusion that Neville had. There was only one man who matched her description. In a flash of insight she realised that she wanted them all to work it out for themselves, so that she wouldn't have to actually stand there and say it aloud and be the one to cause the ensuing row, and blinked; _it's not surprising that Severus wonders if I'm ashamed of him. Damn._

"I promise I'll tell you soon," she said quietly. "I want a bit of time to get through the worst with my parents first, but soon I'll sit down with you and Harry and tell you, and hopefully you won't hate me for it. Maybe you can help me break it to everyone else, too."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Okay. I don't know why this is worrying you so much, but okay. I'll hold you to that, mind."

"Is there any news from your family before I go?"

"I don't think so, but do you have to leave just yet? We don't see you much."

"The curse of teaching at boarding school, I'm afraid. I had planned to stay longer, but I've just realised that I owe a certain wizard an apology for something quite important, and I want to talk to him anyway because he's been a bit on edge recently and I want to see if he'll talk about whatever's upsetting him."

"Well, fair enough," she replied cheerfully. "I guess I can't compete with that. Keep me updated about your parents, won't you? We'll talk soon."

"Bye, Gin."

"Bye."

* * *

He was apparently engrossed in marking essays when she let herself into his office, but she could see even at this distance that they were first or second year students and he could probably almost literally grade them in his sleep, so it wasn't too surprising when he commented, "You're back early," without looking up.

"Yes," she agreed neutrally. "I realised that I owe you an apology."

That drew his attention, and he looked at her with a faint frown. "What on earth for?"

Hermione perched on the end of his desk. "I was talking to Ginny about what my parents might think when I told them about you, and I realised the real reason why I haven't told any of my friends yet."

His expression was very carefully neutral. "Oh?"

"I want to be able to blame them when it all goes horribly wrong," she admitted quietly. "If they work it out for themselves, then they'll be the ones to start the fight, and I don't have to be responsible because it won't have been my fault. That's a bit pathetic, really, and it's not fair to you."

"I did say that I don't care what you say to anyone. I cannot say that the prospect of Potter and his little friends learning even more of my private life fills me with joy," he added sourly.

"No, I know, but it still isn't fair. And however they react, they won't storm Hogwarts to cause a scene; they'll deal with me, not you." She smiled. "Sadly, you won't have the chance to provoke them into starting a fight for you to finish."

His lips twitched. "A pity."

"I'm sorry to deprive you of that," she told him with a straight face. "Anyway, I'm going to concentrate on building bridges with my parents for a few weeks; when I know for sure whether that's going to work out or not, then I'll tell Harry and Ginny and see how they react. I know it sounds odd, but they're probably going to be the most restrained."

"Then we are probably doomed, if Potter's reaction is what you call 'restrained'," he drawled.

"He's not as bad as he used to be."

"He'd be dead by now if he were," Severus replied bluntly, scratching a line through an entire paragraph of some poor student's work and writing something probably very nasty in the margin.

"Ginny's not pregnant, by the way; it was a false alarm. I talked to her about names anyway and she'll speak to Harry about alternatives." She watched him closely for a reaction, but his only response was to shrug as he reached for the next roll of parchment on the pile and started scanning the opening paragraph. A little uncertain, she hesitated.

"Ask whatever it is that you want to ask so badly," he said as he continued to read. A hint of humour softened his cool tone as he added, "I fear you may one day explode if you do not."

_It's still infuriating when he does that. _Shaking her head ruefully, she settled more comfortably on the edge of the desk; this was likely to be a long conversation. "I wanted to ask if you were all right, actually. You've been in a strange mood since I told you about Ginny and Harry wanting to name their next-born son after you; I wanted to make sure you weren't too upset, or angry, or... whatever."

She had expected him to growl that he was fine, or to ignore her completely, so it was a little surprising when he answered calmly, "That wasn't the only reason for my 'strange mood', as you put it, although it certainly didn't help. I have grown adept at ignoring the frequently stupid and invariably thoughtless gestures Potter has made over the years, and I am also something of an expert in disregarding memories of my schooldays."

After a moment he laid his quill down and carefully replaced the stopper in his inkwell, sitting back and regarding her with a distant expression. "If I have been in a strange mood, it is because I am not used to thinking about my parents," he said quietly. "Your letter and your happiness at contacting them once more are a vivid contrast to my own family life. I would have been completely indifferent had my parents severed all contact with me."

Recognising that he was in one of his very rare talkative moods, she said nothing, simply looked at him expectantly with what she hoped was an appropriate balance between sincere interest and concern and waited for him to continue.

His black eyes were still distant, and he seemed to be looking at something else entirely. "I don't know how much you know – or think you know – about my childhood, but it probably isn't accurate. I was both neglected and abused, but those words are meaningless without context, and unless you grew up in the sixties and seventies in the working-class industrial north you cannot easily understand. My upbringing was depressingly normal for the time and the circumstances.

"My mother didn't work; few women did, in those days. I believe she had worked in a shop or something until she became pregnant, but after that she stayed at home. Ostensibly to look after me; in reality I have no idea what she did all day, but it seldom involved me. She was a distant woman in many ways. Looking back, I wonder if she was taking drugs; it would not have surprised me. She did very little magic, but I always knew she was a witch and that I would hopefully be a wizard. I can remember watching her making potions; I suspect she sold them to our Muggle neighbours, which was – and still is – highly illegal.

"My father was like most working-class men of that time. He had no qualifications, very little schooling. He worked at a variety of not very highly paid industrial jobs. He hated magic – I really have no idea why he married my mother – and he forbade her to use it when he was at home; he was displeased that I didn't look or act much like him. He allowed my mother to give me a traditional wizarding name on the condition that my middle name was Tobias. In the beginning, he was largely indifferent to both of us. My parents had been married for some years before I was born; I don't believe they ever wanted children, although my mother was certainly capable of brewing an abortifacient had she wished to. I never had the impression that my parents cared where I was or what I did, and I was largely left to my own devices.

"I didn't have a particularly good time in our neighbourhood. I doubt you can imagine what it was like to be in a poor working-class area in those days, when you were a small, skinny boy with long hair and a name like Severus and none of your clothes fitted or looked particularly normal, but I assure you it wasn't pleasant. I learned very quickly how to avoid drawing attention to myself.

"When I was around seven or eight, the mill near our house closed down. It seems a very small and simple thing, but for a small community like ours it was a catastrophe. Three quarters of the neighbourhood lost their jobs. Nobody in our area could afford a car, so you couldn't commute easily. That was when things took a turn for the worse. My father was often unpleasant and angry, he frequently drank too much, and he had no problem with venting his feelings on his wife and son. He seemed to blame us for existing and needing money from him. I was seven when my mother started using me as a shield," he said dispassionately. "Until then I hid in my bedroom and pretended that I couldn't hear what was happening downstairs, and she would call me down after he had either passed out or stormed off to the pub. It was very Slytherin of her to use me to distract him; he would beat her savagely and often assault her, but his pride wouldn't allow him to truly abuse a small boy. He slapped me around, but never more than bruises or the odd bloody lip or nose.

"From what I understand, my mother had changed a great deal since her marriage; I only saw the end of her decline. I believe that being virtually unable to use magic, cut off from her family and friends and living in poverty gradually wore her down. She was never a particularly strong-willed woman, and by the time I was born she had lost most of her spirit and simply did as her husband wished. At first, she tried to protect me. She at least went through the motions of looking after me – it is unlikely I would have survived infancy in those circumstances if she hadn't. And I loved her, then, as much as any boy loves his mother. But gradually she weakened, seeming to lose interest, as if some inner strength was gone. After the mill closed and we were left with almost no money, my father's temper grew worse, and she lacked the will to oppose him.

"Until that time our lives were normal, given the circumstances. Not pleasant, but it could have been worse. It was around that time that my magic began to show; fortunately, my father wasn't home the first time. My mother seemed to wake up then, for a little while, and she taught me how to hide it and control it. She let me read her old school books, and other, darker books she had inherited from some distant uncle, and I started to learn about magic. It was the only time we were ever truly close, and it lasted perhaps a year.

"Then my father found out that I was – in his words – 'a freak like the useless bitch he had married.' To say he was displeased would be an understatement. His temper grew worse than ever; now his son was even more of a disappointment. He grew more abusive; I wasn't a child to him any more, but a thing, a freak. My mother tried to protect me. He put her in hospital. While she was there, I found her wand, and I tried to use it against him; I was perhaps eight or nine. He took the wand and broke it, and then broke my arm and my jaw by way of symmetry. Without her wand, my mother lost what remained of her spirit and stopped trying to control his excesses; she gave up, and allowed him to do whatever he wanted to the both of us. Neither of them cared where I went or what I did, so I began to wander the streets and explore around the town. I met Lily. You know much of that story; there is little else to add.

"On my eleventh birthday in 1971 I got my Hogwarts letter. It remains one of the happiest days of my life, because it meant I could escape. My mother was happy for me, but she had been increasingly vague and distant in recent months, and I held a great deal of anger towards her at that time for not trying to save us. My father was happy that he would only have to see me in the summer holidays and wouldn't have to pay for my schooling, since I was to be a bursary student.

"After that, I only saw them for a couple of months each year. They didn't write to me, nor did I write to them. Conflicts at home grew worse on the few occasions I was there; my mother was little more than a shell by my third year and made no attempt to stop my father, who by that time was a full-fledged alcoholic and increasingly violent. I learned a great deal about physical fighting from him in the summers – ironically, those lessons stood me in good stead in later life – yet curiously I do not remember even trying to use magic against him, although even at the age of twelve I knew spells that probably would have killed him. The last time I saw either of them alive was in the summer between my fourth and fifth years, in 1974. By that time there was nothing but indifference between myself and my mother; she was barely aware of my existence and I despised her weakness. My father and I truly hated one another; I was still very thin for my age but I had grown taller than he was, and our fights were violent. He didn't always win, I recall.

"So, there you have it," Severus ended, almost conversationally; unlike the previous occasions when she had seen this almost compulsive talkative mood from him, he didn't seem to be particularly upset or angry. "My mother was a fairly normal if somewhat subdued woman who allowed her husband to oppress her as her spirit weakened, until she stopped caring and withdrew into herself. My father was a fairly normal if somewhat temperamental man who did not adapt to struggling circumstances, who grew bitter and angry and drank too much before becoming truly abusive. I find it difficult to comprehend glimpses of families such as yours, who genuinely seem to care for one another and are willing to forgive one another. The first time I saw the entire Weasley clan, I recall growing increasingly uncomfortable, to the point where I physically could not stay there any longer, and after that I always took care to avoid as many social gatherings as possible – a trait I have never lost. I was never able to develop true social skills." After a moment, he added, "This is an explanation, not an excuse."

Hermione looked down at him silently from her perch on the end of his desk. He had his chin propped on one hand and was watching her with a thoughtful, slightly pensive expression that gave absolutely no hint of what he was really thinking.

After a few minutes' thought she observed mildly, "I'm astounded that any students of yours survived any class. With all the problems you've had in your life, it's surely something of a miracle that you didn't just decide to blow up the castle and everyone in it for the sheer hell of it."

He smiled mockingly, taking the comment in the spirit that it had been intended. "There's still time."

"I do wish you'd learned how to have a normal conversation, though. It can be quite overwhelming, trying to cope with decades of personal history in the space of about ten minutes."

"You're assuming that it isn't deliberate."

"It isn't. You speak differently when you're in full-on bastard mode."

"Did I not just state that my parents were married several years before my birth?"

"That doesn't make you any less of a bastard," she replied, smiling almost fondly at him. He hadn't been angry or upset or even particularly bitter, this time, only preoccupied and slightly puzzled, and given the sort of thing she usually learned about him in these revelations this one had been positively benign, so she didn't feel like crying or trying to comfort him. "Social skills are rather overrated, you know," she said thoughtfully.

A glint entered his eyes as he picked up on her change in mood. "I have always thought so," he agreed. "Far too much effort for no tangible reward."

"And the rules are so nonsensical. For example, most people would be somewhat shocked if I were to do this..." Shifting position on the desk, she leaned forward and down to press her lips to his. She felt the vibration of his laughter as he leaned into the kiss, his mouth opening a little.

"How very foolish of them," he murmured against her lips. She drew back just long enough to see that his eyes were closed, brushing his hair back out of the way absently before kissing him again, gently nibbling on his lower lip and feeling the increased pressure of his response as he deepened the kiss before his tongue entered her mouth. Fighting a sudden mischievous urge to laugh, Hermione slid off the desk and into his lap, drawing a startled sound from him as he shifted hastily. "Be careful," he protested. "That's not a place any man wants to be injured."

Straddling him, she callously ignored this objection, kissing him deeply and shivering in delight at his response before reaching down to tug his shirt free of his trousers, blindly working at his belt. "Impatient, aren't we?" he murmured throatily as he kissed her neck.

"Don't get me wrong, I love the way you make me feel, even when you're teasing," she assured him, "but I'm not really in the mood for it right now. I trust that won't be a problem?" she added, drawing back and arching an eyebrow at him in deliberate imitation.

"I believe I shall be able to cope, yes," he agreed in a mock-thoughtful tone, his eyes gleaming as his hands slid to her hips and he pulled her closer against his growing erection. "Is this why you wore the skirt?" he asked absently, paying more attention to her skin; the aforementioned skirt was currently bunched around her waist.

"No, that's just a coincidence. You like the skirt?"

"Umm," he murmured against her neck, his tongue circling her pulse. "Your arse looks so good in tight jeans. But I am rapidly learning to appreciate the advantages of a loose skirt..."

"I wasn't aware you made a habit of noticing my arse."

Severus raised his head long enough to give her a milder version of his patented you-are-an-idiot glare, usually reserved for the stupidest student in each class. "Clearly, my dear," he growled in her ear, "you have not been paying attention." He bit her earlobe and sucked gently, making her shudder against him.

Making a mental note to try and continue this discussion later, she abandoned all attempts at speech and concentrated on freeing him from his trousers and wrapping her hand around him, smiling as he groaned before kissing her again; apparently he was no longer in the mood for teasing either. Reaching down, she pulled her knickers to one side and guided him into her, pressing down onto his length as she took him fully before starting to move.

He arched against the back of the chair, moaning deep in his throat as his hands tightened on her hips; closing her eyes, Hermione shivered again, feeling him starting to move beneath her as she rode him slowly. It didn't take long before she reached the end, not when neither of them were disposed to draw it out, and as she tightened around him in the final spasms he groaned softly in his own release.

* * *

_Some of the reviews for the last chapter may just have given me an idea to ponder..._


	26. Chapter 26

_More drama. Just bear in mind things are seldom what they seem with me__ and everyone involved is overreacting a little.  


* * *

_

**"****Without contraries there is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence**.**"**  
– William Blake.

* * *

_Dear Hermione_

_My dear girl, do you have any idea what your last letter has done to your mother? She's been talking about nothing else except this new man of yours. It's as though we never lost touch with you at all. I admit I'm curious as well, though; please, for both our sakes, tell us a bit more!_

_Don't listen to him, Hermione. I should have known better than to let him write. Firstly, you can answer using an owl if you like; it's faster than our way, I remember, and we've so much to catch up on. _

_Yes, we both remember you telling us about Muggle Studies. It wasn't _that _long ago, you know! It sounds like the sort of work you'd enjoy; I remember you getting quite annoyed at your teacher for making mistakes, and I remember you telling us about trying to explain things to your wizard friends from magical families – 'pure-bloods', isn't that the term? And your friend Ron's father and his habit of collecting things. As long as you're happy._

_As for what we're doing in France, it was a bit of an impulse decision. We tried to settle down back in England, but it didn't really feel right to be there any more. We didn't want to go back to Australia, and you know we've always liked France; when we heard from an old colleague that there was a practice up for sale, it seemed too good to pass up. You'd love it here; it's a wonderful place. Maybe if we can sort things out between us, you could visit?_

_Now, enough hints, young lady. Tell us about this man, properly. You know I'll only worry otherwise, especially since you don't seem to think that we'll approve. I want to know _everything. _(Daddy's laughing now; he says, 'Not quite everything, but almost.') You know what I mean._

_Say hello to Crookshanks for us._

_Love_

_Mum and Dad.

* * *

Dear Mum and Dad_

_I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to tease. It's just... a very, very complicated situation. I think I had better tell you everything now, and get it out of the way._

_Firstly, his age, since I've already mentioned that. He was fifty in January; he's twenty years older than I am. Now, before you blow a fuse completely, remember that witches and wizards live a lot longer than Muggles do; it's not as bad as it sounds. I think if I were younger, it would bother me more, but thirty and fifty aren't so far apart, especially since with luck we'll both live for another century or so._

_I hate to say it like that; it almost sounds as if I'm rubbing it in. I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm a witch, and I can't change that, so things in my world are always going to be different from yours. I don't like it, but that's just how it is. I hope you understand that._

_Anyway, the real reason it's so complicated with this man... I don't even want to write it down, because I'm so worried about what you'll think, but here goes. His name is Severus Snape; if that name seems familiar to you, it should, because I've spoken to you about him before. He used to be my teacher._

_Before I go any further, let me just say there was NEVER anything between us then. In fact, we hated each other, really. Our relationship started last summer, that's all._

_I hope you're still reading and haven't thrown the letter away in disgust._

_He was the Potions teacher and the head of Slytherin House. I know I told you a lot about him, but I can't remember the specifics, and I don't know how much you'll remember. We didn't get along well; he was the only teacher I could never seem to impress. He wasn't a nice man in those days, and he hated Harry, so he ended up hating me as well, or at least disliking me; I made it worse by trying too hard to win him over, I think._

_When the war started... this is going to take a lot of explaining. I never told you much about what was going on. I know you would never have allowed me to go back if you'd known what was really happening. It's going to have to wait for another time. The short version is that nobody really knew which side Severus was on; when he was a teenager, he joined Voldemort (I hope you remember that name, at least). It was a mistake; he didn't know what he was getting into. It's a very long and quite personal story, but he changed sides in the first war and became a spy for our side, the Order of the Phoenix._

_During the second war, the one I was involved in, he kept spying for us. I don't know everything that happened, and I don't want to know. He went through a very bad time, and nobody trusted him – including me, I have to admit._

_I'm sure you're starting to remember some of the things I told you once the war had ended, now. You might remember my telling you that Snape's the one who killed Headmaster Dumbledore. If not, that's probably just come as a horrible shock to you, but let me explain – the Headmaster was dying, and he knew it. He asked Severus to do it. There were lots more complicated circumstances I'll have to tell you about some other time, but that's the shortest version, and this letter's going to be long enough as it is. Anyway, Severus was always on our side and he was just doing what the Headmaster had told him to do, but none of us knew that at the time. We all thought he'd betrayed us and gone back to Voldemort._

_Then, during the Final Battle (again, I can't tell you all the details here; I'm just including the bits involving Severus) I ended up witnessing something terrible. Voldemort was attacking the school; he was talking to Severus about the wand he had been using and why it wasn't working properly. It's complicated, but Voldemort believed that the only way he could use his wand properly was by killing Severus (the really tragic part is that he was wrong about that) so he attacked him and left him for dead._

_Harry, Ron and I were all there. Severus wasn't quite dead; he stayed conscious long enough to give Harry some memories (that's quite difficult magic; we can extract memories and put them in something called a Pensieve for other people to look at) before – well, we thought he had died. We couldn't find a pulse, and he wasn't breathing. We had to leave him there; the battle was still going on._

_I didn't get to see the memories until afterwards, when everything was over and we had time to talk things through and put together the full story. They were mostly quite personal memories, explaining why Severus changed sides and why he kept fighting for us even when none of us knew it, and revealing that he was following the Headmaster's instructions the whole time, but there were also memories there that told Harry what he had to do in order to win the war and defeat Voldemort._

_By that time, his body had vanished. We all thought he was dead, and we spent ten years thinking he was dead. Then, almost two years ago, I saw him in London. It's yet another long story (I _did _tell you it was complicated) but he came back to Hogwarts to teach again, and since then we became good friends. He's not anything like the man I hated when I was his student, and we've actually got a lot in common. As I said, we got together last summer._

_I don't know if you're even still reading this. I wouldn't blame you if you weren't – I haven't even dared tell most of my friends about the two of us yet, because they're going to hate it. Severus was always very unpopular and even now we know his true motives, most people still don't trust him. But you're my parents, and I love you both, and I want you to know about him because he makes me very happy._

_So, what's he actually like? Well, for a start, he's very clever – he's probably more intelligent than I am, and he loves books every bit as much as I do. He's got an absolutely wicked sense of humour, very dry and sarcastic. He can be quite moody sometimes, and he does have odd moods now and then, because of everything he went through in the war and because that's just how he is. He's got a bit of a temper, but so have I, so it balances – we've had some quite funny arguments, actually. If you ever meet him, he'd probably seem quite cold and formal; he doesn't find it easy to trust people, and it takes him a long time to relax and just be himself (in fact, I think I'm the only person he behaves naturally around, even now). _

_He's quite defensive and harsh on the surface, but underneath it he's actually a very gentle and sweet man (even if he likes to pretend otherwise). He likes music, and animals – Crookshanks absolutely adores him. He's very good at reading people; he always seems to know when I need something. And the way people treat him isn't fair at all; he saved us all, every bit as much as Harry did, and I can think of several occasions when he personally saved my life. It hurts him when people treat him like a criminal, but he's such a strong man you'd never know it to look at him._

_I don't really know what else to say. I'm closer to Severus than I've ever been to anyone. I love him, and he makes me very happy. I really, really want you to approve of him, but I think I might be asking too much there. I wish we could have got back in touch before; then you'd have known about him before we got together, and it wouldn't all have been such a shock._

_I'm sending you a prototype booklet that the school has been working on, about the war and what happened. I've added bits to it, and so has Severus. It explains the war in its simplest terms, what happened and why, or hopefully it will do when it's finished._

_I'm sorry for just dumping all this on you at once, but there's no real way to soften it. This is my world, and this is my life. I'm hoping you can be part of it again, but I don't know if that's possible._

_I love you both._

_Hermione.

* * *

_Hermione had been terrified of her parents' reaction to that last letter. When it came, their response was strange; it was mostly a list of questions about the war, with no mention of anything that had been in the letter that had accompanied the booklet she'd sent them. Only at the very end was there a brief sentence saying that her parents neither approved nor disapproved yet and were still thinking things through. That was fair enough, all things considered, but it still made her uneasy.

"Relax," Severus growled lazily at her one sunny Sunday afternoon in April. The weather was glorious, so they had both elected to work outside, and were currently settled in the long grass in the dappled sunshine of the bluebell clearing once more. He had been marking essays, but had finished and had simply been lying back in the grass with his eyes closed, relaxing; not asleep, but certainly surprisingly casual. Then again, given that he would know if anyone was coming long before they actually got close enough to see them, perhaps it made sense.

"I'm not disturbing you," she muttered.

"Really?" He opened one eye and propped himself up on his elbows to look at her, raising an eyebrow and looking mildly amused. "Sighing and muttering to yourself constantly is a little irritating."

"Sorry, I'm sure," she said ungraciously, glaring at him.

"Oh, don't be like that. What's the problem?"

"I wouldn't want to _irritate _you," she replied snidely.

He rolled his eyes. "And yet, you are remarkably successful at doing so." Pushing himself carefully into a sitting position, he stretched. "The letter to your parents, still?"

"Yes. I don't know how to answer some of their questions."

"May I see?" She handed him their letter and her half-written attempt at a response, and he lay back to read through the pages slowly, his eyes half-closed against the sunlight. "Hmm," he murmured finally. "The problem is that you are trying to spin it. You are leaving bits out and trying to phrase other parts to create a certain impression, which is why it isn't working." He handed the papers back and sat up, easing back to lean against the tree they were lounging under. "Either tell them everything, or tell them nothing. It is a little late to be trying to influence their opinions now."

"It's not that simple, Severus..."

"Yes it is," he replied calmly. "You are just making it complicated. You have nothing left to lose, Hermione. They haven't spoken to you in... eight, nine years? The worst they can do is to continue not speaking to you." More gently, he added, "Tell them the truth, Hermione. It is all you can do."

"Telling the truth hasn't worked terribly well for you, has it?"

"One reason why I seldom do so, and don't be facetious," he responded dryly. "Go back to the beginning, and tell them about the Horcruxes and the Hallows. Tell them about Riddle's life and his rise to power. Go over material you have already told them if you have to." Pausing, he added more quietly, "And tell them about me, too, and the Potters, and the prophecy. Tell them _everything_. It won't make sense otherwise, and this will be difficult enough for them to understand as it is."

"Are you sure, Severus?" she asked softly, turning to look at him.

He shrugged. "One way or another, it's all going to come out someday," he muttered ambiguously, shifting position and settling more comfortably. "Your parents won't understand unless they know everything."

Hermione wondered briefly if anyone else could possibly hope to understand what a sacrifice it was for him to voluntarily surrender his close-guarded privacy like this, and for no other reason except that it was important to her. "Thank you," she said quietly, and impulsively shifted in the grass and stretched out with her head resting on his thigh, shuffling the papers into some sort of order and beginning to draft a response. She felt his fingers idly combing through her hair, separating the curly strands; it wasn't until returning to the castle some time later that she realised he had woven bluebells through her hair.

* * *

The next letter from her parents was more positive; they were both understandably concerned, but prepared to concede that they clearly weren't in a position to judge when they had only just learned the facts. They would let things lie, for now, but they insisted that they wanted to see her in the summer holidays – and, if at all possible, to meet Severus. Hermione hadn't mentioned it to him yet; she was waiting for the right time to raise the subject.

The Easter holidays got off to a dismal start with a change in the weather; weeks of blue skies and sunshine gave way to ominously dark clouds and intermittent bursts of heavy rain, which meant that the castle was filled with bored and restless students. The usual petty incidents were multiplied, and as Head of the least popular house, Severus was kept very busy.

After one particularly trying day, she watched him reflectively as he worked on some of the Infirmary stores; sometimes she helped him, since she could brew the basic potions almost as well as he could, but tonight he was obviously inventing work to distract himself. There was something almost hypnotic about Severus in full Potions Master mode, she observed idly; he wasn't moving noticeably quickly, but every motion was efficient and direct. He knew where all his equipment and ingredients were and never had to pause to search for something or to recall what to do next. For simple potions like these, she suspected he could almost literally brew them in his sleep.

"Severus," she said quietly.

"Yes?" he replied distantly, apparently paying more attention to the roots he was slicing than to her. She wasn't fooled; he had picked up on her tone and was waiting for a further hint before he decided what mood he should be in.

"I was thinking that tomorrow I'd go and see Harry and Ginny."

Scooping up the sliced roots, he added them carefully to the steaming cauldron, stirring the half-completed potion with his other hand. He didn't seem to have heard her, but she knew he had understood what she meant and was thinking it through as he worked. She wasn't sure how he was going to react; in the end he merely asked quietly, "Do you wish me to accompany you?" and Hermione was reminded once again that Severus simply wasn't like most men. He wouldn't bother asking if she was _sure _about something; he assumed that she had already thought it through carefully and that she was sure.

"Don't be silly. You'd sooner drink raw sewage than meet with Harry under any circumstances, let alone this."

Adding a careful measure of fine powder to the cauldron, Severus repeated in exactly the same tone, "Do you wish me to accompany you?"

She smiled at him, appreciating what an offer he had just made. "No, but thank you for offering. I'll be fine."

"I know _that,_" he replied briskly, turning to give her a small smile as he reached for a bottle of murky syrup and pouring a measured dose into the potion. "You always are." Whatever had brought out this slight softening of his nature, she reflected, she hoped it continued.

In a more serious tone, he said quietly, "It will not be pleasant."

"I know," she replied. "Part of Harry still hates you, even though he knows the truth and feels guilty about misjudging you so completely and even though he mostly respects you and sort of admires you. I don't know why, though."

"Because I treated him very badly," Severus replied, adding somewhat unexpectedly, "and because he is his mother's son."

"Don't you mean his father's?"

"No. James was far too lazy to hold a grudge, and half the time he was too thick to remember why someone might hate him. I was the exception, not the rule. It was Lily who was the truly unforgiving one," he said pensively, watching the steam curling up from the cauldron as he stirred its contents slowly.

"It seems easier for you to talk about them these days," Hermione said cautiously.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate, and she let it drop; easier didn't mean less unpleasant, and she knew from experience how painful it was when your best friend wouldn't forgive you for something you'd said or done by accident.

"I don't think Harry will forgive me immediately," she said now, returning to the original topic, "but I'm hoping he's less volatile where you're concerned after all this time. And I'm hoping that Ginny can stop him completely losing his temper."

"I wouldn't hold your breath on that score. She likes me about as much as her husband does... with rather more justification, given what happened during that year at school."

"Probably true," she admitted, "but she's less impulsive than Harry and doesn't make snap judgements. She doesn't like you, but she doesn't hate you either. She understands why you did what you did, and she understands – in theory, at least – that you've changed since the war ended." She sighed. "We'll see. I'm certainly not expecting it to be pleasant, but if my parents can accept hearing that you're my former teacher and a murderer, then my best friends can damned well accept that you're my lover."

Severus gave the potion a few more precise stirs, then laid the stirring rod down and crossed the lab to sit beside her. "You don't have to tell them."

She laid her hand over his on the rough surface of the work bench. "I know that. I _want _to tell them. I want to be able to talk about you if I want, without having to check every single word before I say anything. I don't want to keep secrets from my friends, not about something important."

He linked his fingers through hers. "Are you sure you don't want me there?"

Recognising the change in tone, Hermione grinned at him. "No, Severus, I'm not going to give you the chance to hex Harry without repercussions. You managed to resist the urge under extreme provocation all this time; I don't want to test it any further. Besides," she added, "if he's going to say anything that deserves a hex, I'll do it myself."

"Fierce little hellcat, aren't you?"

"Damned straight."

"I might resent the implication that my motives are so aggressive."

"You might, but you don't," she replied mockingly, knowing full well that he had only offered because he wanted to defend her and also knowing his reaction should she say anything. It was easier to joke around; they both knew what was really being said.

* * *

Joking aside, by the following afternoon Hermione was extremely nervous. She could potentially lose two of her closest friends in just an hour or two – it wasn't really very likely, but she couldn't find it in herself to be anything but pessimistic about the situation. She'd do it willingly if the alternative was losing Severus, but that wasn't much comfort.

Severus himself was trying to be optimistic; optimism came about as naturally to him as cycling did to a goldfish, so his attempt wasn't particularly successful, but if nothing else the effort was amusing to watch. He clearly believed that this was going to be a complete disaster, but he was valiantly trying to pretend otherwise, which she appreciated. He had also been employing various methods in an attempt to distract her, and had been subtle enough that she hadn't realised what he was up to until he had provoked her into yelling at him; even then, she had only worked it out when she saw that he was trying not to laugh. What was even more annoying was that she had felt better afterwards.

Picking morosely at the remains of her lunch, she sighed and looked at the clock for about the millionth time. "Oh, this is ridiculous," she said finally. "I might as well go and get it over with." He'd tried every possible method of distraction, with the exception of sex or a full-out duel; she really wasn't in the mood for the former, for once, and the latter would not end well.

"You sound as if you are walking to your execution," he observed dryly. "An understandable reaction for anyone approaching the Potter household, in my opinion..."

"Severus."

He subsided, evidently recognising that his admittedly odd sense of humour wasn't helping the situation. "Who will be there?"

"Just Harry and Ginny; the children are at the Burrow until tomorrow. I don't know how long I'll be..."

Staring thoughtfully into his coffee, he replied ambiguously, "I do not anticipate any pressing business today; I imagine I will be here all afternoon."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you." He gave her a faintly disapproving look; she'd broken the code by acknowledging his meaning rather than his words. "Don't scowl at me. I'm allowed to be obvious and emotional; I'm a Gryffindor, remember?"

"I try very hard to forget," he said grumpily, with a hint of humour in his eyes. "Do at least try not to be stubborn, if you please. I do not wish to hear through the gossip network that you have Splinched yourself in some dramatic fashion, or that you are currently under arrest for hexing the Boy Who Unaccountably Lived To Be Immensely Annoying."

"I notice that you make no mention of not wanting to hear that I hexed him, only that I got caught," she observed dryly. In fact, her hexing Harry in defence of Severus was probably a secret fantasy of his, she suspected.

"You're learning." He stood and picked up their plates. "Go. And don't stand for any nonsense. You're worth fifty of him." The last was said over his shoulder as he vanished into the small kitchen, leaving Hermione staring after him. Shaking herself, she looked down at Crookshanks; the cat gave her an amused look.

"Shut up," she told the half-Kneazle, shaking her head; her familiar had been spending far too much time around Severus. Cats shouldn't be able to smirk like that. _And I had better go, before I completely lose my mind. _Taking a deep breath, she turned and started the long walk down to the gates.

* * *

"Okay," Hermione said slowly, fidgeting uneasily with her ring. "Before I tell you, I'd like you both to agree to hear me out before the shouting starts."

"You're actually serious, aren't you?" Harry said blankly.

"I told you, she's absolutely paranoid," Ginny murmured, seeming more amused than anything else. Hermione was certain that wouldn't last.

"Just who _is _this guy?"

Taking another deep breath, Hermione sighed and licked her lips, steeling herself. No more hints, no more jokes. This was it. "It's Severus."

A small part of her started laughing hysterically at the expressions on their faces; Ginny's mouth hung open in a decidedly unflattering manner that made her look unfortunately like her brothers, and Harry's eyes had widened so much they looked in danger of falling out of his skull. All the colour had drained from his face, and Ginny wasn't much better.

When he finally opened his mouth, Hermione spoke quickly to forestall him. "I'm not joking, and you're not hearing things. I'm living with Severus Snape."

Harry very slowly closed his mouth again. Finally Ginny managed to say hoarsely, "Snape?"

"Yes."

After another painfully long silence, the redhead said shakily, "Well... now I see why you didn't want to tell us..." She hesitated, then blurted, "_Why?_"

The words were surprisingly easy to say. "Because I love him."

"Do you? You've never seemed that sure."

"I've never wanted to say it. That doesn't mean I didn't know how I felt. I do love him, and I've known it for a long time now." She sighed. "Come off it, Gin. Why is it such a surprise? I've told you everything about him except his name. A very intelligent half-blood Slytherin, twenty years older than me, who fought in the war; someone I used to know and got back in touch with a couple of years ago that I didn't think you'd approve of; who did you _think_ I meant?"

"Well, I didn't think you meant _Snape! _Merlin, Hermione, how the hell was I meant to guess you'd shacked up with the greasy git?"

"Don't call him that."

"That's what he is!"

"No. He isn't. He's much, much more than that. And if you're just going to insult him, I might as well leave, because I'm not going to listen to it."

"I – all right, all right. Just... what the _hell?_" Ginny shook her head slowly. "This is insane."

"Is it?" Hermione asked quietly. "I don't see why. You knew we'd become close friends since he came back. You even admitted once that we seem to have more in common than you'd realised. I've told you how much he's changed, how different he is from the man we all hated. Why is it so hard to accept that I might actually like him more than I told you?"

"Because he's still Snape, that's why. He can't have changed _that _much."

"He hasn't," Hermione agreed, still feeling oddly calm. "He just stopped pretending. So much of what we thought we knew was just an act. The real Severus is very different. But I've told you this before; if you didn't believe me then, you're not going to believe me now." Taking a breath, she turned. "Harry – you haven't said anything yet."

His green eyes were hard, and she winced inwardly, knowing that this was going to hurt. They'd been friends for a very long time, and that meant that even minor rows could be very, very painful. "What's to say?" he snapped. "You're with a Death Eater."

"Yes."

"You're admitting it?"

"Well, denying it would be a little pointless at this juncture, wouldn't it?" she said, exasperated. "Yes, Severus was a Death Eater. He has never denied it. And if he hadn't been, we'd have lost the war, as you well know. You've even said so yourself."

"If he hadn't been, my parents would still be alive."

"No, Harry, they wouldn't," she said gently. "They had already defied Voldemort three times; it was in the prophecy. He would have got to them eventually, out of sheer spite if nothing else. And it was Pettigrew who betrayed them. Severus was not responsible for your parents' deaths, not really, even though he still blames himself; and he did everything he could to prevent it once he realised what was going to happen."

"He's a murderer."

"Aren't we all? Most of us killed, in the war." Hermione met her friend's eyes steadily. "What's your real problem, Harry? Why do you really object?"

Something broke behind those green eyes. "He's barely even human, Hermione. I've seen Snape's idea of love, and it's twisted and sick. He's a traitor who can lie so well that nobody can detect it. He'll turn on absolutely anyone, no matter who they are or what they've done for him. You can't – how can you trust him?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Is this about your mother, Harry?"

"I – well – partly, yes! He –"

She raised a hand to cut him off. "I won't discuss it with you; it's too personal. But Severus and I have talked about a great many things in the past year and a half; including Lily. Yes, he did love her once, and I'm sure part of him still does, in a way. But it isn't an issue for us. He was finally able to start moving on, once Voldemort was dead. Ginny, you've seen his Patronus, just before Christmas." Shifting in her seat, she closed her eyes for a moment. "And he's not a traitor, Harry. You know damned well he isn't. Even when he realised that joining Voldemort was a mistake, he stayed loyal; he only changed sides to try and save your parents. And once he had, he did so completely, even after they died. He had absolutely no reason to continue to serve the Order, and a great many reasons not to, but he stayed true to us – even when we turned on him."

"_He killed Dumbledore._"

"I _know _that, Harry!" she snapped, starting to get angry now. "He was obeying Dumbledore, just as he always did, even though he knew what that would mean for him. And Dumbledore completely screwed him by giving him that order; he could have told Minerva or Kingsley what he had planned, or left a letter to be opened on his death, or his portrait could have told someone afterwards. He didn't, and Severus spent what could have been – what very nearly was – the last year of his life trying to help people who despised him for doing what had to be done."

"I didn't see him _help _many people, Hermione," Ginny said quietly.

"That would rather have defeated the object of being a double agent, wouldn't it, if people saw him do it? Damnit, Ginny, don't bring this up again. We've had this conversation before. If any other Death Eater had been put in charge, they wouldn't have made a show of cursing you for the rebellion you started; they'd have tortured you to death in front of the others as an object lesson. You were young, female, pretty, and a blood traitor with close ties to Harry; without Severus, your death would have taken weeks, and you'd have been begging to die the entire time. He kept you alive and relatively safe at unbelievable risk to himself. And I assure you, he hated every moment of what he was forced to do. It still haunts him."

"How can you trust him?" Harry asked.

"How can you _not_, Harry? How many chances did he have to save his own skin, chances he ignored? How many times has he saved your life, personally, when he had no incentive to do so and would have been far better off if he hadn't?" She shook her head. "Enough. You both know all of this already. Severus isn't on trial and I'm not going to sit here defending all his crimes. You're both being absolute self-righteous hypocrites."

"What? Hermione –"

"Yes, you are! An hour ago he was the reluctant hero, and you felt so guilty about misjudging him so horribly that you were going to name your next-born son after him. Now suddenly you've learned that I happen to be in love with him, and he's back to being the treacherous Death Eater scum you originally thought he was when we were foolish children who didn't know what was really going on. Just because he's finally managing to move on a little and starting to be happy – for the first time in his entire life – you don't respect him any more? You admitted only last year that we couldn't have won the war without him and that we owed him everything; what changed?"

"That's not –"

"No, please, tell me. I really want to know why you don't think he's allowed to be happy, after everything he went through for us. I promise you, you don't know a tenth of what happened to him when he turned spy for the Order; nobody does. Even I don't know it all. But I've seen his scars, and I've listened to his nightmares, and I'm there for him when it all gets too much – I'm the only person who ever has been there for him, as far as I can tell." Her temper had snapped at last, and she was flying now, words pouring out.

"I assure you, I haven't lost my mind. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I'm not blind, either; Severus is far from perfect, and I'm the first to admit it. He's spiteful, cynical, vicious, petty, bitter, moody, depressed, vengeful, underhanded, manipulative, emotionally unstable, psychologically damaged, ruthless, unscrupulous, obsessive and an absolute bastard. But he's also loyal, brave, insightful, protective, determined, lonely, gentle, caring, neglected, guilty, stubborn, in pain, brilliant, and so strong it's almost unbelievable. I have no idea how he managed to endure as much as he has and come through it with so little damage, but somehow he did, and he's made me happier than I ever dreamed of being. I love him, and I'm damned certain he loves me, as much as he can."

Slowly, her anger began to fade, and she forced herself to relax a little, all too aware that she had been just moments from reaching for her wand and venting her rage on his behalf at them. "I know him; and you don't, either of you. Whatever you've seen and whatever you think you know, that's not who Severus really is." Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment and let it go before inhaling again, calming down slowly. Both of her friends looked utterly stunned by the outburst and clearly didn't know what to say now.

"Is this about Ron?" Harry asked; with those four words he completely justified every insult to his intelligence that Severus had ever delivered, as far as Hermione was concerned, and her anger surged back tenfold.

"_What?_"

"Well... it hit you hard, when you broke up..." He faltered at the look on her face.

"That was almost a decade ago! What, do you think I'm some mad spinster who's just been pining all these years until I found someone appropriately desperate and damaged enough to take on Ronald sodding Weasley's leftovers? It may astonish you to learn this, Harry, but I do have a life of my own that goes beyond the two of you, there are men apart from Ron who will look at me twice, and I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I'm even capable of being happy when I'm not sitting in a corner listening to the pair of you mindlessly wittering on about your lives and ignoring mine! I've finally found an intelligent and considerate man who cares about me and wants the same things out of life as I do – which I _never _had with Ron – and I don't need or want your permission or approval! I'd also like to remind you that _I _broke up with _him, _not the other way around!

"I'm sorry," Hermione said more calmly, "but I didn't come here to defend myself, or Severus, and I didn't come here to try and justify anything. I just wanted to tell you, because you're my friends, and I don't like keeping secrets from you, especially about something so important to me. You're almost the only ones who know – Luna's known since my birthday, and Neville worked it out a couple of months ago. I told my parents recently, and now you two. Nobody else knows. Please, no matter how angry you are with me, don't tell anyone else."

"We'd never do that..." Harry protested weakly.

Unconvinced, she shrugged. "I know what you're capable of when you're angry, Harry. I've known you nearly twenty years. I just want you to think before you do anything. Severus is more important to me than you are."

He looked hurt. "How can you say that?"

"That's what love means, Harry. I'd hope Ginny means more to you than I do. It's the same thing." Hermione watched her friends exchanging glances, and stood up slowly. "I think I should go. We're all a little overwrought and you obviously have a lot to think about, and talk about. When we're all calmer, we can talk again. I don't know when I'll next be free to visit, but you can write, if you want to. And you can ask questions; but I won't respond to accusations or insults. And unless you have a good reason for me not to, I'll be showing any letters you send to Severus."

"Where is he now?" Ginny asked. "Surely he should be here."

"He offered," she replied wearily, "but I told him no. I don't think he could cope with seeing Harry again, not yet. He's at Hogwarts at the moment, pretending not to be worried; he knows what this means to me. You should be thankful he's not here; he might allow you to question him and judge him, but he'd never allow you to speak to me the way you just did. You'd be bleeding before you realised he'd drawn his wand, Auror or not." That had hurt Harry's pride; she saw his eyes flash with brittle anger, and for a moment she understood Severus' contempt for Gryffindor emotions. Even at almost thirty, Harry was still terribly easy to provoke and still acted without thinking. It was his biggest weakness.

"Enough," she said when he opened his mouth again. "Whatever you're about to say, I'm certain I don't want to hear it. I'm going. I'll speak with you both when you've calmed down enough to realise just how much you've insulted me today." She resisted the urge to slam the door behind her, but just barely.

* * *

It didn't really hit her until she had arrived back at the Apparition point beside the school gates, which was perhaps just as well, or she really would have Splinched herself. Fortunately, it was raining so hard that there was nobody else around, which meant that when she started crying nobody could see her. Making a half-hearted effort to stop, she gave up and leaned against the wall to ride out the first shock and pain; Severus could possibly sense her the moment she stepped onto the grounds – she wasn't entirely sure just what his powers were in that regard; she'd never known everything the Headmaster could do – and she didn't want him to come charging to the rescue until she'd calmed down and sorted herself out.

Oh, God, that had hurt. It hadn't been what they'd _said, _precisely – except for the jibe about Ron, it had been much as she had expected; but the look in their eyes, particularly Harry's... that had hurt. His anger, and worse, his contempt, his disgust – she had hoped for more understanding from her best friend, who'd been almost a brother to her for so long. Abandoning any attempt to dry her eyes, Hermione tilted her face up to the falling rain and let it wash away her tears, trying to resurrect the fierce anger that had sustained her throughout the meeting; she failed, but eventually she did manage to stop crying.

It really wasn't as bad as it seemed, she told herself. She had known their first reaction would be volatile; both of them were quite impulsive and Harry especially still reacted without thinking. At first glance, the notion of herself and Severus _was_ rather hard to accept. Neither of her friends was truly stupid; once they had calmed down enough to think things over, things would settle down. Hopefully.

Slowly she began to trudge up the drive, wondering tiredly how Severus was going to react. He would have been worrying about her, which would have put him in a bad mood, but she really didn't want to fight now and she really, really didn't want to have to talk him out of his furious impulse to storm off and confront Harry. She was too tired for any of that and didn't want to face his temper.

By the time she finally arrived in the dungeons – having had to detour twice to prevent anyone seeing her – she was soaked to the skin, shivering, and utterly drained both physically and emotionally. Severus was at his desk, but she very much doubted that he had been doing any work; he looked up the instant she came in, his face as utterly neutral and expressionless as only he could make it as his eyes searched hers. She winced inwardly when those black eyes narrowed, sparks of anger kindling in their depths, but she needn't have worried; he surprised her again by saying absolutely nothing, merely standing, walking over to her and pulling her into his arms.

He ignored her attempt to pull away, simply drew her firmly against his chest and rested his cheek against her wet hair, and after a moment she stopped trying to resist and buried her face in his shirt. She was too worn out to cry again and instead just let herself relax against his solid strength, closing her eyes. "I'm making you wet," she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

"Don't be absurd."

His shirt was oddly wrinkled, Hermione realised, and she felt her lips twitch briefly. "You've used a drying charm recently. How long were you standing out in the rain watching the drive?"

"Long enough to feel like an idiot," he admitted softly, kissing the top of her head, and she almost smiled; not very long ago, he would have denied it and simply claimed that he had got wet when he went for a cigarette and that it was just a coincidence that had nothing to do with her. "Come; you need to dry off. You're cold."

"I'm all right," she protested unconvincingly.

"You're shivering," he pointed out, firmly taking her arm and steering her to the bathroom. Picking up a towel, he gathered her hair back and started to dry it, beginning with the ends and working his way up. "Your clothes are soaked. How long were you out there?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to come back until I'd calmed down and stopped crying."

"Foolish woman," he said softly, raising a hand and non-verbally Summoning her dressing gown from the bedroom. "Put this on until you're dry."

Surrendering, she peeled off her sodden clothing, shivering more noticeably now; he handed her another towel without comment and continued to work on her hair, for once disregarding her nudity. She appreciated that, too tired and miserable to want anything except perhaps to go to sleep and wake up to find it had just been a bad dream. Once she was dry, she wrapped the dressing gown around her and allowed him to lead her to the bedroom, where he pushed her gently down to sit on the edge of the bed and gave her a stern look before disappearing briefly; waiting for him to come back, it occurred to her that either of them could have just used a simple drying charm to dry her off, but she wasn't going to argue.

When he reappeared, he handed her a small vial of headache relief and a mug of something creamy that smelled faintly of vanilla and spices; she had no idea what was in it, but it was warm and it tasted sweet and she sipped at it without complaint. He settled onto the bed behind her and began working his fingers through her damp hair, methodically separating it into sections before starting to comb it through gently. He didn't speak until he felt her starting to relax, and only then did he ask softly, "What happened?"

She glanced at the mirror, watching his reflection. Severus was concentrating very hard on what he was doing; she could see the dark, hot anger in his eyes still, but he was ignoring it for the moment and controlling himself, which she was relieved to see. "About what I expected," she said quietly. "They weren't happy."

He didn't answer, slowly working the comb through her curls and simply waiting to hear whatever she felt like telling him. After a moment Hermione leaned back, and he let the comb fall to wrap his arms around her and draw her back against his chest; closing her eyes, she let his warmth seep into her. "It wasn't even what was said, or not said," she explained wearily, so tired that it almost hurt. "That was the usual rubbish, telling me everything you'd done, as if I didn't already know. Oh, and then Harry asked if this was because Ron and I broke up so harshly – despite the fact that that was eight years ago. I nearly slapped him for that. I think he believes I was turning into Miss Haversham or something. That was annoying, but..."

"But?" he queried softly, resting his chin on her shoulder; she felt the warmth of his cheek against hers and breathed in the scent of him, relaxing a little more.

"The way they looked at me. Harry especially, but Ginny as well. They looked so... I don't know how to describe it. Not disgusted, exactly, or contemptuous, but... almost as if I'd somehow betrayed them. As if my happiness sickened them, but that's not quite right either. It – it hurt."

His arms tightened around her, but he didn't say anything. Resting against his body, she sighed, a little wistfully. "I always knew intellectually that it wouldn't last. I've spoken about boarding-school friendships before. We were never going to stay as close as we used to be. But I've known Harry nearly twenty years now; he was like a brother to me once, and now that's gone. We'll get past this, eventually; he'll apologise, or I will, and we'll move on, but I've realised that it's never going to be like it was before." She smiled a little, her eyes still closed. "I don't think I like growing up – well, except for you, anyway. Life was a lot simpler when I was a child. Dangerous, a lot of the time, admittedly, but it was simple."

"You always did seem happy," Severus said reflectively. "At least, most of the time, you did. It can be difficult to teach when you envy your students for their innocence." He rubbed his cheek against hers gently, half-nuzzling her, and added, "And you most certainly will _not _apologise. It was his fault, not yours."

"That's not really how it works, Slytherin. You should know that better than most. It doesn't often matter who's actually to blame."

"Cynicism does not become you, Hermione. You are not nearly bitter and twisted enough to make it convincing." He shifted position. "I need to move; this is making my leg ache." Drawing away, he kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed, reaching out to pull her down beside him. "You look exhausted; get some sleep."

"It's the middle of the afternoon," she protested half-heartedly.

"You're tired," he replied practically. "Staying awake until a more conventional sleeping hour will only make you feel worse, and probably make you more irritating than you usually are. Get some rest; you will feel better when you wake up."

"Promise me you won't go after Harry until I'm awake. I won't have you traumatising his children by brutally murdering him in his own house."

He snorted. "I wouldn't waste my energy. He's not worth it. Stop worrying about him and worry about yourself for a change."

Stifling a yawn, Hermione murmured, "If there was a calming draught or any kind of sleeping potion in that drink you gave me, Severus, I'm going to be very cross with you."

"That will be a novel experience, I'm sure," he drawled softly, sliding an arm around her waist and spooning against her back. "The only potion I gave you was the headache one – as you should know, Professor. You are more fatigued than you realise. Now _go to sleep._"

She didn't argue any further; closing her eyes once more, she cuddled back against him and let go of everything, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

_More fanart! Well, sort of. From **frusie** again. This piece is so epic that there are no words for it: _jeanswear dot deviantart dot com /#/d3btyba


	27. Chapter 27

_And now for something completely different.__  


* * *

_

**"****Nobody could hurt me like I know she could hurt me**  
**But there's nothing in this world that I want more**  
**Nobody could take me to the places that she takes me**  
**Places that I've never been before..**.**"**  
– Evan & Jaron, 'I Could Fall'.

* * *

It was dark when she woke up; she had never understood how daylight filtered into the dungeons, so far below ground, but somehow it did despite the lack of windows, and it was after nightfall. Lifting her head, she squinted blearily at the clock and found that it was late evening. Severus was stretched out beside her, reading by dimmed wand-light. "Good evening," he murmured without looking up from his book.

"Hello." Rolling over, she stretched and yawned.

"I trust you feel better now?"

"I'm not answering, because it will only encourage you."

"I'll take that as a yes." He gave her an amused look and put his book down. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really." She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I mean, I could eat, but I don't really want anything."

"Fair enough," he conceded, watching her with so little expression that his concern was obvious. Only Severus could manage to express emotions by withholding them, Hermione mused wryly as she smiled at him.

"I'm all right," she assured him. "Really, I am. I'm not even that upset any more. They were more shocked than anything else, and neither of them has ever liked surprises, and they're both quick-tempered; when we've all calmed down, I'll talk to them again. Until then I'm not going to worry about it."

"Good."

Moving closer, she settled into the curve of his arm, resting her head on his chest almost automatically and absently playing with the buttons of his shirt. He picked up his book in his free hand once more, and they lay in silence for a while. "Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is it so quiet?" He moved a little, and she looked up at him. "I mean, I thought you hated silence."

"I do; but this isn't precisely silence, is it? I can hear you breathing, and each small movement you make. I am less reliant on background distractions these days in any case."

"Oh. That's good." Smiling, she settled into his arms again as he returned to his book, and reflected that he was right; there was no such thing as true silence when someone else was nearby. She could hear his breathing and the faint rustle when he turned a page or simply shifted slightly. It was oddly comforting, and she didn't have his pathological need for distracting noise to avoid dark thoughts, at least most of the time. Now she let her thoughts wander, listening to the faint sounds of his presence beside her, and thought of something she had planned a long time ago. Maybe now was a good time to try it? He seemed so much better these days, and she could certainly use the distraction; besides, if it went according to plan, they would both enjoy it. "Severus?"

She could hear his smile in his voice, even if his expression held only faint exasperation. "Now what is it?"

"Sorry. I've thought of something I want." Hermione sat up slowly, watching him put his book down and turn to look at her.

"What?"

"You," she said simply, waiting long enough to see him blink and then smile before she leaned close and kissed him gently. He responded, his hand softly cupping her face as he turned more onto his side, his mouth opening a little as he allowed her to deepen the kiss.

After a while he drew away, his eyes warm as he regarded her. "Would you care to be more specific?" he asked.

Gathering her courage, she said quietly, "I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you."

He froze for a long moment. "Hermione... I don't know."

That wasn't a 'no'; she pressed her advantage. "I want to."

"If I panic... I'll hurt you. I may not even realise it's you. And I don't want to think about what I might do if I start thinking that Bellatrix has me again."

"That may be true," she agreed slowly, "but as long as it feels good, you won't panic. And if it stops feeling good, tell me, and I'll stop. You know that. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you would enjoy it." Slowly she moved her hand down his chest and stomach to rest lightly on his crotch. "You think you'll enjoy it, too," she observed, venturing a smile; part of him clearly had no objections.

"That part of me doesn't get a casting vote," he muttered, looking uncertain. She could see that he did want to, and not purely because he was a man who was being offered oral sex, but he was also worried that he would hurt her.

"I don't think you'll panic," she said softly. "I've been your lover long enough to know that you don't associate sex with pain. You've never reacted like a lot of abuse victims do."

"No," he agreed quietly. "What I went through wasn't about sex; it was about domination, power, and pain. And it wasn't my first sexual experience, nor did it involve my preferred gender. I was able to keep normal sexual intercourse separate from that, mentally. But this... is different."

Hermione winced when she realised what he was saying. "That was your only time, wasn't it?" she asked softly. Trust Bellatrix to pervert something that should have been a wonderful experience for a young man. He nodded slowly and she leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Then you deserve to feel what it's really like," she told him. "And I don't think you'll panic. You're more in control of yourself than you think. Will you let me try? I promise I'll stop if you want me to."

"Why is this so important to you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Because it's something I enjoy, and something I want to do for you," she replied honestly, "and because they don't deserve even a small victory over you. Please?"

He looked away, staring into the darkness of the bedroom for a while. She didn't push, just let him think about it for a few minutes; her hand was still resting lightly over his groin, and she could feel him growing harder as he considered, which was a fairly good indication of which way he would probably decide. Finally, slowly, he nodded, and she smiled at him before touching his face gently, sliding her fingers into his hair and kissing him once more.

She undid his shirt as they kissed, pulling back long enough to undo her dressing gown as he shrugged out of the shirt, and they continued removing one another's clothing between kisses as their hands began to wander, exploring each other's bodies. The familiar heat of desire helped silence her racing thoughts, and she lost herself to the here and now, to his scent and his touch and the taste of his skin as she kissed his chest and licked his nipple before starting to kiss her way down his torso, tracing scars with her tongue. She bit gently at the taut muscles of his stomach and ran her tongue over the curve of his hip bone, feeling him shiver as her breath washed across his erection; his body was tense, a blend of nervous anticipation that she associated with a much younger man, but so far he clearly had no objections.

Settling herself comfortably between his thighs, Hermione eyed him thoughtfully, feeling a pleasurable shiver run down her spine as she considered the lovely hard length awaiting her. She really did enjoy this, and it had been a long time since she had been able to indulge. It wasn't about the physical sensation at all, really, which admittedly wasn't always all that pleasant at the end, but about the way it could disarm and destroy even the strongest and most tightly restrained of men; and she really wanted to see – and feel, and hear, and taste – Severus come undone and lose all his iron-hard self control. Slowly and deliberately she licked him, one long stroke of her tongue along his shaft from base to head, and heard his breath catch as he shivered. He tasted of salt and musk, something earthy and utterly male.

She kissed the tip of him gently, and traced a slow circle with her tongue, before finally starting to ease her mouth over him carefully. Severus made a soft noise in his throat, and she paused for a moment to look up along the line of his body to his face; he was propped up against the pillows, watching her, and his eyes were blazing. Fighting down a smile, she returned her attention to what she was doing, drawing a little more of him into her mouth and exploring the soft silky skin stretched over all that hardness, rediscovering the contours of his flesh.

He hissed when she started to suck him, and his body arched, his hips moving involuntarily as he struggled to keep still. Delighted with his response, she increased the pressure, and he almost whimpered. Breathing carefully around him, she drew back for a moment to allow the cool air to touch him where her saliva slicked his skin, smiling as he trembled, before she began to take him further into her mouth and throat, slowly working her way down the length of him with some difficulty. He was big, and she was out of practice.

By the time her lips met his body, her throat spasming around him, he was gasping for breath and making sounds she had never heard from him before, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands knotted into fists around wads of the sheet under them. Slowly, watching his face the entire time, Hermione began to pull away, raising her head from the solid length of him; he opened his eyes for a moment and caught the full visual.

"Fuck!" he hissed explosively, throwing his head back, the obscenity dissolving into a strangled groan as she sucked hard on the last few inches of his erection. She dug her fingers lightly into his thighs, cautioning him to try and keep still, and felt every muscle shaking with the strain. Already she could taste how close he was, as she ran her tongue over his tip, metallic saltiness mixing with the taste of his skin.

His voice was distorted almost beyond recognition as he gasped, "Hermione, I – I won't... shit... I'm – oh, _God!_" The cry was almost torn from his throat as his back arched, his spine bowing as his hands clawed at the bedding. She had never heard him so completely out of control before, and the powerful thrill of it made her shudder as she raised her head just enough to meet his frenzied eyes. His expression was wild, his mouth open and his eyes not quite focused, his pale skin flushed and slick with sweat as his hair clung damply to his face, and it was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen, Severus Snape in the throes of ecstasy as he neared orgasm.

She made no attempt to answer him, merely lowered her head and took him into her mouth once more, and watched his face as he realised that she wasn't going to stop, that she wanted him to come like this. He cried out again, wordless now, and started to shake, almost writhing against the sheets; his eyes looked strange, frantic, the pupils massively dilated. Half closing her eyes, she lost herself in what she was doing to him, the solid and wonderfully hard length of him sliding in and out of her mouth before her lips closed more firmly about him and she sucked him one last time.

He almost screamed, a wordless and inarticulate howl of release, and his hips bucked against her restraining hands as he climaxed violently, filling her mouth and spilling down her throat as she swallowed; hot and thick and salt and metal and bitter and something else that was uniquely him. As she drew away he sprawled limply beneath her, his eyes closed and his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his whole body trembling; swallowing again and licking her lips, Hermione watched him anxiously as his panting gradually subsided.

After what seemed an eternity, Severus slowly opened his eyes, blinking dazedly at her. He tried to say something, faltered, tried again and gave up; shakily he lifted a hand, his fingers trembling, and stretched to touch her face. As his eyes came back into focus, they softened into the quiet almost-smile she knew so well, and then he started to laugh softly in pure and unrestrained innocent pleasure. There was a note of exultant triumph in his laughter, and a faint edge of almost hysterical relief, but mostly simply joy. There were tears on his face too, but she understood, and as he looked up at her she smiled at him before leaning down, her hair falling around their faces, and kissed him.

She had meant it to be gentle, but Severus evidently had other ideas, and his hand slid into her hair as he pulled her down to meet his fierce and hungry kiss. He made a low sound in the back of his throat as he tasted himself in her mouth, and if possible grew even more ardent as the kiss deepened; without even her usual token struggle, she yielded willingly to him and his joyous loving as he set about making good use of the time his body required to recover.

* * *

Hermione had no idea how much time had passed by the time it ended, but it was long into the night before they were both finally and completely spent. She hadn't expected to trigger that sort of response in him, but... she certainly wasn't complaining. Her whole body felt heavy, languorous pleasure and exhaustion weighing her down. Severus was lying quietly now, his head resting on her breasts, and only the slow movement of his hand tracing across her abdomen let her know that he was still awake, albeit only just.

He seemed unwilling to stop touching her, his fingers trailing in lazy circles over her skin, and his breathing was slow and deep as he neared unconsciousness. She stroked his hair softly, more tired than she could remember being, and smiled as he turned his head to nuzzle gently at her skin, his lips brushing the curve of her breast just below her scar. It wasn't sexual, not any more; neither of them had the energy, not now, and wondrous though his stamina was – his performance would have done credit to a man half his age – he clearly had nothing left.

"How do you feel, love?" she whispered, so tired that she didn't realise what she was saying until she'd said it.

He didn't react in any way to the endearment and seemed not to have heard it; he merely exhaled slightly more heavily, nuzzling her skin again before settling into stillness once more, only his fingers still moving in slow circles over her stomach. "I feel... tired," he murmured, a faint vibration of laughter running through him, and she smiled, lacking the energy to giggle.

"I'm not surprised... I wasn't expecting _that _reaction..."

"Nor was I," he answered wryly, the sound of his voice letting her know that he was smiling. "No, I feel... free."

"Free?" she queried, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"Yes." He stretched, slowly, muscle by muscle, and held the moment of tension before allowing himself to relax bonelessly against her once more. "One less nightmare. One less... weapon. The memory... has no power any more." His voice was soft, almost slurred with sleepiness, but she understood what he was saying and smiled, pleased that she had achieved her goal.

"I'm glad. They didn't deserve even that much of a hold on you."

"Mm," he mumbled vaguely; that might have been agreement, or perhaps just an acknowledgement that he had heard her. He yawned and snuggled closer. "Thank you."

She was too tired to laugh, but she tried anyway. "Trust me, Severus; it was most definitely my pleasure." If she'd known he would react like that, she would have asked months ago; then again, perhaps it was better to have waited. He hadn't been ready for it before. "And you're all right?"

He chuckled sleepily. "Oh, yes..." he replied, more sighing than speaking. Slowly he lifted his hand from her stomach and gestured vaguely; she noted that his fingers were trembling a little in sheer exhaustion. The blankets piled at the foot of the bed stirred sluggishly, and he growled in sleepy irritation, repeating the gesture a little more forcefully before the bedding moved within his reach and he dragged it up over them both.

"I think we should be thankful it's the holidays," Hermione told him in some amusement, cuddling closer under the blankets and closing her eyes. "Even you would struggle to teach classes all day tomorrow."

"The way I feel right now, I'll struggle to _walk _tomorrow," he murmured faintly, smiling against her skin and yawning again. "But I could teach, if I had to. I've not had much practice ignoring pleasure, but it can't be any harder than pain..."

Hermione wasn't sure she agreed with that. From Severus' point of view, it was probably more difficult; after all, he was extremely familiar with pain and so accustomed to it that he barely seemed to notice injuries any more, but pleasure was still comparatively rare. "Well, luckily, you _don't _have to. I'm not sure I'll be walking either," she murmured in response.

He stirred. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she reassured him gently, stroking his shoulder. "No more than I hurt you." He relaxed again with a sleepy sound in his throat, nuzzling close against her breasts; she felt his breath whispering across her skin as he settled down again and smiled, savouring the warm weight of his body. Tonight marked something of a breakthrough for them both, she considered drowsily; it was further evidence of how much he trusted her, and another of his old ghosts had been laid to rest. It had also provided them both with considerable pleasure. But more important than any of that was the fact that she had just accidentally called him 'love' and he hadn't panicked. Oh, he might have pretended not to hear, but he'd heard the first part of the question or he wouldn't have answered; the fact that he hadn't even tensed slightly was a very good sign. It didn't give her any more insight into his feelings, but at least hers weren't likely to ruin everything.

Thinking about anything at all was too difficult now, let alone trying to analyse her unbelievably complex lover, and she let it go. His hand had stopped moving and was now resting motionless on her hip; listening to his breathing, she concluded that he was asleep. Smiling, she relaxed fully and let the slow rhythm of his breath lull her into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hermione woke to the knowledge of several things. One, somewhere outside it was a lovely sunny day, a welcome change after the heavy rains of the previous few days. Two, she was absolutely starving hungry. Three, apparently 'shagged out' wasn't just a figure of speech; she felt wonderfully tired and had what promised to be splendid bruises in some very interesting places. Four, her arm had gone to sleep, since Severus apparently hadn't moved all night. She nudged him gently a few times, finally finding a place on his ribs that got a reaction; he rolled off her and onto his back without waking, and she retrieved her arm, rubbing sensation back into the fingers as she watched him sleeping.

It was rare that she got to see him asleep, given his regular bouts of insomnia and the fact that most of the time he was a naturally light sleeper, and it was a sight she valued. He looked younger and more relaxed, with no trace of tension in him. Unusually, he was smiling a little in his sleep, and she smiled involuntarily in response at the sight. He looked almost... well, 'innocent' wasn't the right word to describe Severus; gentle, perhaps. He looked beautiful, although perhaps not in a way anyone else would have understood the word.

A moment later the peace of their bedroom was shattered when silvery light exploded in the middle of the room, scaring the living daylights out of her. She heard Crookshanks yowl, somewhere, but it was Severus' reaction that was occupying her at that moment; he displayed his usual ability to wake instantly and in less than a heartbeat he was half-crouched on the edge of the bed with his bad leg on the floor, his body imposed between her and the silver light and his wand pointed at it. She had never seen anything to equal his reflexes; she wasn't even sure where his wand had been at that point, given that his clothes had mostly been on the floor on the far side of the bed in a carelessly discarded heap.

The silver light swirled, and now she'd had a moment to breathe she recognised a Patronus; she could even guess whose it would be, just as it coalesced into a stag. _Harry, you are such an unbelievable prat! _Severus had also recognised it; she watched his reflection in the mirror and saw his eyes harden, his jaw tightening. Clearly he didn't appreciate being woken under these circumstances, and he certainly looked less than happy to see this ghostly reminder of far too much.

_"Hermione, please, can we talk?" _the stag asked plaintively in Harry's voice. _"I'm sorry. Gin and I will be outside the Hogwarts gates at two and we'd really like to talk to you, to _–_"_

Whatever else he might have had to say was lost, as Severus flicked his wand and growled, "_Terminus._" The Patronus gave a startled flicker and winked out abruptly. Dropping his wand, Severus collapsed back onto the bed, exhaling heavily and dropping his arm across his eyes. "Harry James bloody Potter is without doubt the most moronic, cretinous individual I have ever had the misfortune to encounter," he declared in a muffled voice.

"I would agree with you, but I think I'm having a heart attack," Hermione replied shakily, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. "Bloody _hell, _Harry! I may have to kill him."

"Please do."

"Will whatever you just did hurt him?"

"Unfortunately not," he replied, scowling. "_Terminus _is stronger than _Finite, _but not by much. At worst it may have stung a little. If I knew a stronger charm, I would have used it." He rolled onto his side and blinked up at her, still looking annoyed. "Leave it to Potter to ruin a good mood."

Nodding rueful agreement, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. "Although I suppose in all fairness to him, he didn't know for certain that I would be with you. And as it appears to be almost noon, he couldn't have guessed we'd still be asleep."

Severus scowled again, but nodded grudgingly. "I suppose not. That does not make him less of a moron, however," he added.

"No arguments here." Looking down at him, she felt herself smile; even Harry's inept gesture couldn't entirely spoil her mood. Leaning down, she kissed Severus gently, and after a moment he responded, happily enough that it seemed his mood wasn't quite ruined either. "Good morning."

He smiled at her as he sat up. "Indeed." Stretching, he yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. "Let me take a quick shower, then I'll start breakfast – or lunch – while you clean up."

"That sounds like a very good idea," she agreed fervently. "I'm ravenous. And it's entirely your fault, Severus Snape."

He smirked. "I seem to recall it was you who started it."

"The rest of the night was your idea, however," she pointed out, then grinned at him. "And yes, I know, I wasn't complaining. But I may start doing so now, unless you get your rather nice arse out of bed and make me a bacon sandwich."

"Merlin save me from bossy women," he muttered, not particularly sincerely, standing up and stretching again – providing her with rather a pleasant view. "Tomato sauce, I assume?"

"Naturally. And feed Crookshanks too, please, unless he ran for the hills when Harry pulled his little stunt."

Pausing in the doorway, Severus looked back at her and rolled his eyes. "Yes, _dear,_" he replied as sarcastically as possible, doing his best to hide the smile in his eyes as he turned away.

* * *

Two o'clock found Hermione standing to one side of the Apparition point outside the school gates, her arms folded beneath her breasts and her best imitation of Severus' scowl firmly in place. She still felt tired and would much rather have been in bed still, bantering with her lover, eating another sandwich and idly examining the various marks left on both of them from the previous night's activities; instead she was out here in a chilly breeze waiting impatiently to hear Harry stumble his way through an apology.

When her friends arrived – late, inevitably – she glared at them in frosty silence, waiting. The first words out of Harry's mouth, though, bore no resemblance to an apology. "What did you do?"

"What?"

"What did you do to my Patronus? It felt _weird._"

_Good,_ Hermione thought privately. Aloud, she informed him with a scowl, "_I _didn't do anything. Severus did. He wasn't particularly pleased to have the ghost of Prongs come bursting into his bedroom, oddly enough; nor was I, come to that, and you terrified Crookshanks out of his fur."

"Is he here now?" Ginny asked warily, looking around apprehensively as Harry turned an interesting colour at the mention of the word _bedroom._

"Crookshanks? No, he isn't."

"You know I meant Snape. Is he here?"

"Do you see him?" Hermione retorted, not in the mood to be nice. In fact, she didn't know where Severus was at the moment, but she'd put good money on his being nearby; just the other side of the wall, if she had to guess, close enough to eavesdrop without being seen. She hadn't bothered forbidding him to follow her, since he wouldn't listen; she _had _made him promise not to start anything, and he'd agreed with a nasty gleam in his eyes that actually made her hope that Harry would say something stupid and provoke him.

"No, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"You've still got the Invisibility Cloak. I assure you, Severus isn't going to jump out and yell _Boo_," she replied dryly. "Can we move this along? I'm tired."

"Well, you were still in bed at noon," Ginny muttered, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend.

"For some odd reason, I didn't sleep very well last night," she said pointedly, and Ginny looked away, looking a little ashamed of herself. Hermione decided not to spoil the effect by going into details of what she had been doing instead of sleeping, not even to see what hitherto undiscovered colour Harry's face would turn if she told him that she had been sucking Professor Snape's sizeable hard cock before he had thoroughly fucked her into exhaustion. She was starting to see the appeal of the Slytherin approach; she hadn't lied, merely avoided telling the whole truth.

After an uncomfortable pause, Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, which was still as untidy as ever. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You're right; we were out of order yesterday."

"Yes, you were," she agreed softly, relaxing her aggressive stance a little and unfolding her arms; truthfully, she wasn't even really angry any more. By now, she knew the two of them well enough to know they hadn't really meant it; they had just been shocked.

"After you left, we talked things through," Ginny offered quietly. "And, well, it makes a... twisted kind of sense? Once we thought about it... it didn't seem so strange."

Harry nodded. "And all that stuff I said, that was wrong of me. It just... threw me a little, you know? I mean, this is the first guy you've been serious about since Ron – I guess that's why I mentioned him. The others – weren't really anything much, were they?"

"There weren't many," she protested, well aware that Severus was almost certainly listening. "But... yes, you're right, none of them were serious. Ron was my first, but he was never going to be my last; we were wrong for each other."

Harry nodded again. "I know, 'Mione. I can accept that. But the idea that _Snape _might be right, when Ron wasn't... It's a lot to take in, you know?"

"I do know," she agreed. "I knew it would be a shock. It's one reason I kept putting off telling you; and there wasn't really a gentle way to break the news. I'd hoped you would work it out on your own," she added pointedly. "I gave you more than enough hints."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed ruefully, smiling. "We talked about that, too. It was quite obvious when we looked back. Anyway... we're sorry. We shouldn't have reacted like that."

Hermione shrugged and offered a small smile. "It's okay. I'm probably being far too forgiving, but I never wanted to fall out with anyone over this. I knew you'd be shocked, and a little horrified. I don't even blame you, not really. If I still saw Severus the way we all did at the end of the war, I think I'd be horrified too, but you haven't met him since then, so you haven't seen what he's like now."

"When _are _we going to meet him?" Ginny asked. "I have to admit, I'm curious, especially with some of the things you've said."

Suppressing a smile with some difficulty as she remembered a few past conversations, Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. Not for a long time yet; I don't feel ready to confront you all, never mind whether or not Severus does. I want to tell everyone else in your family first, let everyone get used to the idea. Your parents are next on the list."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"God, no. He's the last to be told, and when I tell him it'll be in a room full of people who know in advance and who can hold him down. Otherwise he'll try something stupid, and Severus will kill him."

"Ron is an Auror, you know..."

Hermione smiled. "He's also Ron, Harry. I know him too well, and I've seen how quickly Severus reacts. I don't know anyone who could possibly beat him in a duel, but Ron's definitely daft enough to try it in the heat of the moment. So, he finds out last."

"Do your parents know?" Harry asked softly.

"Yes. They seem to have taken it quite well; obviously, they're concerned, but they don't have any preconceived notions about Severus to overcome – I barely mentioned him to them. We're still talking things over, but it seems to be okay. They're more interested in rebuilding contact with me, at the moment."

"That's good."

The talk continued for a little while after that, but there wasn't much more to be said, and Harry and Ginny had to return home to collect their children from the Burrow. Once they had left, Hermione walked back through the gates and closed them, before looking around at the innocently empty grounds. "Well?" she asked archly.

The ghost of a deep chuckle echoed through the sunny afternoon, and a patch of air nearby shimmered with a Disillusion charm that lifted to reveal a familiar dark shape. "Well, what? Surely you were not so foolish as to imagine that I would not be nearby."

"Of course not. That's why I didn't say you weren't there when Ginny asked. I'm glad you behaved yourself, at least."

He fell into step beside her as they began to walk back up the drive towards the castle. "Really, what did you imagine I would do?" he asked in some amusement. "Besides," he added, smirking slightly, "had I interrupted, I might have missed something interesting. Weasley was really your first?"

She tried to glare at him. "Don't tell me you believed all the rubbish in _Witch Weekly _and Rita Skeeter's stories."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I can say truthfully that I had far more important things to concern myself with than your sex life," he replied dryly. "In any case, I make it a point never to believe anything Skeeter writes. I can't stand the woman. She hounded me desperately in that last year, trying to get an exclusive interview." His lip curled.

Hermione studied his expression and blinked. "She tried to seduce you, didn't she?"

"More than once," he agreed. "It might have been slightly more flattering, had I not suspected that she routinely does so in search of stories, and had she not been such a disagreeable hag of a woman."

"You turned her down, I take it." _At least, I hope so. _She had no real problem with Severus having had lovers in the past, especially given the skills he appeared to have learned, but she hoped that he had better taste than that.

He chuckled nastily. "In a manner of speaking," he agreed with a hint of malice in his expression.

"Oh dear; what did you say to her?"

"I told her – truthfully – that I'd rather shag a week-dead sheep than her and that if I wanted a whore I'd pay for a clean and disease-free one. Then I offered to introduce her to some of my less picky friends and invited her to attend the next Death Eater gathering. She left rather hurriedly at that point."

Laughing, she grinned up at him. "Even by your standards, that was charming."

"I was rather proud of it," he agreed sardonically, smiling a little.

"She wrote a book about you, you know. _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?_"

"I know," he replied, his smile broadening a little more. "I found a copy in a second-hand bookshop in Essex not long after I came back to England. It was a vastly entertaining work of fiction, was it not? I believe the only things she got right were my name and job title. She even got my age wrong, I seem to recall."

"She did manage to spin out the fact that she knew nothing about you," Hermione agreed, smiling with him.

"To return to our original subject..."

She sighed, irritated. "_Yes, _Ron was my first. Does it really matter?"

He shrugged. "No. It must surely have been a little unfortunate for you, though."

"Not really," she said reminiscently. "I certainly wasn't _his _first, although he tried to pretend I was. He knew what he was doing, more or less, and I at least knew the theory. That part of our relationship wasn't the problem." Severus was better, quite a bit better in fact, but his ego didn't need any more stroking at the moment, not after the previous night. Curious, she looked up at him. "What about your first time?" she asked cautiously, watching his face in case it would turn out to be one of _those _stories; she knew it had been before he joined the Death Eaters, but that was all.

Severus looked more amused than anything else. "Nothing particularly memorable, I assure you." After a moment he elaborated idly, "I was sixteen. During that summer after my parents died, when Lily would no longer speak to me, I was on my own with nothing to do. I started hanging around with the local gang of Muggle teenagers, engaging in the traditional pastimes of drinking, smoking, taking drugs, vandalising things, stealing, and having mediocre and indiscriminate sex. I lost my virginity behind some bushes at the edge of the nearby playground; we were both drunk, and I can't even remember her name, if I ever knew it in the first place. It was about as good as you would expect under those circumstances."

"God, Severus, you're so romantic."

"I know," he agreed, snorting softly. "I was never particularly interested, to be honest. Even Lily... I wanted her, in a clumsy teenaged way, but it wasn't much of a driving force. I never had a high sex drive, and my time with the Death Eaters suppressed my libido further. There were women, sometimes, but rarely. I didn't much care, and unless I paid for it, it took such a lot of effort on my part that I could seldom be bothered. I didn't attract much in the way of female attention, unsurprisingly."

"Their loss," Hermione said reflectively. "Oh, you weren't especially attractive then, but if they'd known what you could do, I think a lot of women would have been eager to look past that..."

Fortunately for him, Severus had the sense to look amused rather than smug, and even managed to neatly return the compliment by saying thoughtfully, "Perhaps I merely lacked appropriate inspiration in the past."

She thought it was more likely to be his deeply buried need for affection manifesting itself in a manner that his conscious mind could cope with, but she certainly wasn't going to argue. In any case, they were back at the castle now, and this was not an appropriate conversation to be having inside school.

* * *

As the Easter holidays drew to a close, both teachers found their workloads increasing as the threat of exams loomed nearer, and they had less free time to spend with one another. When Severus interrupted a lazy Saturday morning in bed to announce with an annoyed growl that Minerva was approaching the dungeons, therefore, Hermione swore irritably. "What does she want? She never talks to you willingly, and if it was some sort of emergency she'd Floo."

Growling something probably highly uncomplimentary, Severus paused and cocked his head to one side as something evidently occurred to him, and an utterly evil smile slowly crossed his face. "I do believe that it is time to resurrect an old game of mine," he said wickedly. "If you would care to Disillusion yourself and find a place in the sitting room to observe, you may find it amusing."

"Severus, what are you going to do?" she asked, torn between wary and amused – she certainly wouldn't want that expression directed at her. He only smiled maliciously as he slid out of bed and stood up, seizing his wand and heading for the door. "What game?" she called after him, finding her dressing gown and her wand.

"Embarrassing Minerva McGonagall and teaching her to leave me alone," he called back from the bathroom over the sound of running water.

"Won't she know I'm here?"

"No. These are my rooms, and I do not wish her to know. In any case, she will not be paying much attention, as you will soon see."

Taking his word for it, and feeling almost unbearably curious, she settled comfortably cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the sitting room where she would be very unlikely to get in the way, and cast the charm on herself just as there was a knock at the door and the Headmistress called, "Severus?"

Hermione understood the game as soon as Severus appeared; he was nude but for a not particularly large towel wrapped around his hips and his hair was wet and dripping. She personally found it a pleasant view, but somehow she couldn't see the somewhat prudish Headmistress feeling the same (at least, she rather hoped not, since that was disturbing on so many levels). As he approached the door, holding the towel loosely with one hand, he raised his wand with the other and ran the tip of it across his shoulders; watching, Hermione saw a shimmer spill over his skin, and most of his scars disappeared. She knew what lay under the glamour, so it didn't work perfectly for her, but Minerva would only see a few of the larger scars.

Severus waited a few steps from the door, watching the wood with an amused expression as the knocks grew more persistent. Finally impatience overcame courtesy and Minerva opened the door, to find a mostly naked Potions master apparently on his way from the shower to answer the knock.

He scowled at her. "Do come in," he said sarcastically, standing back. "Make yourself at home."

Minerva's expression was priceless; Hermione hastily cast a non-verbal Silencing charm on herself to make sure that she wouldn't start giggling and give the game away. The older woman looked almost horrified; Severus, by contrast, looked annoyed and impatient but utterly unselfconscious. "Well?"

"What?" the Headmistress managed.

"I trust there was a reason for this visit?"

After a long moment Minerva seemed to rally. "Do you feel it appropriate to answer the door in this state, Snape?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It is not yet half past eight on a Saturday morning. Any unannounced visitor to my personal quarters rather than to my office must be a member of staff, rather than a student, and at this hour it is unlikely to be a social call. I assumed that it was more important than getting dressed – not that you gave me time to do so," he added with an edge to his voice. "Quite clearly, I was in the shower. Now, Headmistress, what is it you want? The dungeons are not so warm that I wish to stand around like this all morning."

That was true, Hermione reflected, laughing silently in her corner; the statement also had the effect of drawing attention to his nipples, hardened from the cool air, and thus to the drops of water sliding over the muscles of his chest from his wet hair. Her shoulders shook as she watched Minerva's expression.

After far too long a pause, the Headmistress answered the question, her accent thicker than usual. "I was looking for Hermione..."

Severus raised the other eyebrow. "Unless the staff quarters have been rearranged recently, her rooms are several floors up and some way towards the other side of the castle," he pointed out mildly.

"Obviously, Snape, she isn't there, or I wouldn't be looking for her," she snapped angrily, evidently not liking being so discomfited. "For reasons I cannot fathom, she seems to get something from your company, so I thought you might know where she was."

Very slowly and deliberately, Severus looked down at himself, then back up at his employer, a nasty gleam in his eyes. "I was in the shower," he repeated silkily. "I am not in the habit of entertaining guests in my bathroom."

"Enough games, Snape. Is Hermione here?" Minerva snapped, now obviously somewhat flustered.

His black eyes hardened. "Why would Professor Granger be here so early in the morning when I am clearly not dressed for a social occasion?" he asked in a very dangerous tone of voice. "What, precisely, are you implying, Minerva?"

To Hermione's utter astonishment, the Headmistress actually blushed. "I – I didn't mean – oh, shut up, Snape! You know exactly what I meant. Do you or do you not know where Hermione is?"

"I believe we have just established that there is no possible way I would know," he drawled icily. "I assure you, she is not in my shower. Beyond that, I could not possibly comment. Was there anything else?"

_I love Slytherins, _Hermione reflected, trying not to shake too much with the force of her silent mirth in case the Disillusion charm wavered too noticeably – not that she thought Minerva would notice, under the circumstances. Severus half naked and dripping wet was extremely eye-catching, after all, especially since he had now allowed the towel to slide an inch or so lower on his hips.

Evidently Minerva realised there was no possible way to win this particular confrontation. With an expression on her face that promised dire retribution later, she said crisply, "No. That will be all."

Twisting the knife one last time, Severus bowed mockingly, letting the towel slip a little further and making a show of tugging it back into place as he straightened; flushing again, the Headmistress beat an undignified retreat, slamming the door behind her. Once the door had closed, the hard anger and the contemptuous sneer melted from his face and he chuckled softly, turning to scan the room before focusing on the corner; Hermione lifted the Disillusion and the Silencing charms, breaking into peals of laughter as she stood up.

"You are such an evil bastard, Severus! That was brilliant!"

He smirked, clearly feeling very pleased with himself. "Something of a new record for me," he observed reflectively. "I never managed to make her blush before. I didn't know she could."

"Do you often answer the door to her like that?"

"Not often. That would lessen the impact, after all. And it is entirely her own fault – the first instance was a genuine accident, many years ago. If she had not reacted so amusingly, it would never have been repeated. You may be interested to learn that I did the same thing to Dolores Umbridge, too," he added reflectively.

Still laughing, she crossed to stand in front of him, resting her hands on the damp skin at his waist, above his hips and just above the edge of the towel. "Remind me never to make you angry with me."

His rich, deep laughter joined hers in the quiet room. "You are many years too late for that, Hermione," he told her affectionately. "I have been at least mildly annoyed with you since your very first Potions lesson. You are the most infuriating witch I have ever known."

She would have very much liked to be angry with him for saying something so nasty, but his expression was gently amused rather than mocking, and she was still fighting off giggles at the memory of Minerva's face, and in any case it was very difficult to argue with Severus when he was mostly naked, embarrassing though that fact was. "Evil bastard," she muttered, without any real heat, before leaning in to kiss a drop of water from his chest.

"I do believe our esteemed employer is looking for you," he observed mildly.

"She can keep looking for a while," Hermione replied absently. "When she can't find me, she'll assume I sneaked off to spend some time with my mystery lover – which I have, so I won't even have to lie when I see her." Besides, the Headmistress was possibly mildly traumatised at the moment.

"I may make a Slytherin of you yet," Severus responded in some amusement.

"My inner Slytherin isn't the one I'm most interested in at this precise moment," she told him, kissing his chest again and sliding a hand under the towel to find him already responding. His arms slid around her waist and he drew her closer, lowering his head to kiss her in response, and she melted against him happily, her hands exploring his body until a slight tingle against her fingertips reminded her of something. "Before we get totally carried away..."

"Hmm?"

She smiled at him. "Pay attention. You haven't dropped your glamour charm." He blinked at her, his expression turning a shade wary, and she reached up to touch his face, ignoring the abused towel as it finally lost the fight and fell to the floor. "I told you, Severus, your scars are part of you. You're not _you _without them, and I never want you to hide yourself from me."

After a long moment of uncertainty, his eyes softened and she felt the tingle of his magic once more as the glamour dissolved and he was once again the man she knew. Kissing him again, Hermione drew back for a moment and grinned at him. "I don't think you needed it anyway. From what I saw, Minerva wouldn't have noticed had they still been fresh, bleeding wounds; I doubt she would have seen any scars."

He snorted softly. "Foolish woman. There are far worse things than nudity, even when I am involved."

She stared at him blankly. "You really think that's why she reacted like that? Severus..."

He frowned. "What?"

"Oh, you impossible man," she murmured, hugging him impulsively. "How anyone so intelligent could completely miss the point, I don't know."

"What?" he repeated, sounding somewhere between irritated, defensive and confused.

Smothering a laugh, Hermione looked up at him. "Minerva wasn't horrified because she saw you almost naked, Severus. She was embarrassed by her own reaction; I try very hard not to speculate about my colleagues' personal lives, especially those who used to teach me, but I imagine it's been a very long time since she last saw a sexy man getting out of the shower."

He stared at her; his expression was an interesting blend of confused bewilderment, utter disbelief and fascinated horror that left her desperately fighting back laughter. This was _not _one of the situations where it was okay for her to laugh at him, but the look on his face... Concentrating on the disbelief in his eyes, she regained control of herself; his self esteem really was terrible. "Believe me, Severus, you're worth a second look from anyone, these days," she told him more gently. "In case you haven't noticed, you've gained some weight at long last, and it's all muscle. You never looked unattractive as such, only unhealthy, and now you no longer do. Surely you didn't think I'm the only woman in the world who finds you rather pleasant to look at?"

He was looking seriously off balance now; it lasted only a moment or two, before his eyes hardened as he fell back on the only means of defence he had and started to pull his walls back into place. She hadn't seen that for a long time and reacted instantly, reaching up to tangle a hand in his damp hair and wrenching his head around to meet her eyes. "Don't you dare, Severus! I just told you that I don't want you hiding, not from me."

After a long pause, he said very carefully, "To answer your question, all evidence up to this point would suggest so."

"Rubbish," she retorted. "You just haven't noticed it, that's all. Lots of people were looking at us when we were out in Cambridge at Christmas, and I guarantee it wasn't just me they were looking at, nor were they horrified and wondering why on earth we were together. And I swear, if they ever invent a better alternative to a Time-Turner, I'm going to go back to the seventies and slap every single girl you ever knew during your adolescence, just on general principles. Then I'm going to slap both your parents, paying specific attention to your father, and then I'm going to slap Lily Evans again for the sheer hell of it, her and the Marauders, and I'll finish up by smacking Dumbledore over the head with something. Because I think it's terrible that you think so little of yourself."

By the end of this little rant, she felt a bit stupid, but – for whatever odd reason – it seemed to have done the trick. Severus looked puzzled, more than anything, with a faint edge of amusement, but that was a definite improvement over his earlier mood. "Are you finished?" he inquired cautiously.

"I've barely started; I've got a long list of people from your past I'd hex if I could. But for the moment, yes, I'm finished."

"Good." He picked her up bodily before she even registered that he had moved, and kissed her as deeply and as thoroughly as he ever had, leaving her completely breathless and incapable of speech by the time his mouth left hers. Looking at her seriously, he said calmly, "You are, without doubt, completely and utterly insane, and we should simply have turned you loose upon the Dark Lord and got out of the way rather than relying on Potter." Kissing her again, he added, "I am almost tempted to find a way for you to enact this mad plan of yours, just to see what would happen." He kissed her a third time. "However, I find myself rather more tempted to return to what Minerva so rudely interrupted earlier."

Managing to evade a fourth kiss as he strode towards the bedroom, Hermione regained a little breath as she twined her arms around his neck, heartily approving of this plan; it would be much more fun than her idea and would hopefully do more for her lover's self esteem. With that in mind, she set about showing him exactly how attractive she found him.

* * *

_This chapter was fun to write, I admit._


	28. Chapter 28

_I'm away until Tuesday so review responses might be a little delayed this time.__  
_

* * *

**"****All persons are puzzles until at last we find in some word or act the key to the man, to the woman; straight away all their past words and actions lie in light before us**.**"**  
– Emerson.

* * *

Mission accomplished, she eventually made her way to the Headmistress' office, leaving behind her a sleepily satisfied Slytherin who was in a vastly better mood and apparently a little more convinced of his own desirability. It would have been nice to stay there with him and continue proving the point, but she supposed she really should find out what Minerva had wanted, if only to prevent any further interruptions at a later date. Besides, it might actually prove to be something important.

Knocking at the door, she let herself in and smiled at her employer, who was seated behind the desk and working. "Good afternoon, Minerva. Severus told me you were looking for me?" A muffled laugh from one of the portraits had her smothering a grin as the Headmistress grimaced.

"That man will be the death of me. Did he tell you anything else?"

"No," Hermione said innocently. "He didn't seem too happy, though. What happened?"

Several portraits were snickering now; she could identify Dilys, inevitably, and also Phineas, which was something of a surprise. Albus had moved to the portrait behind Minerva's head and was twinkling at her in mild amusement; evidently they all knew what had happened.

"He's never happy," Minerva said dismissively. "Anyway, I didn't call you here to talk about Snape. Have a seat, Hermione. Tea?"

Resisting the urge – just barely – to keep teasing her boss, she assented and sat down, reflecting that maybe she really was spending too much time with Severus. _Never mind. _Sipping her tea, she looked at the Headmistress expectantly, wondering what had been so important that anyone would risk confronting the Potions master in his lair on a Saturday morning.

"I have been doing a lot of thinking since speaking with you and Severus in January," Minerva said thoughtfully, smiling at her. "It's taken a lot of discussion with the board and a lot of fiddling with paperwork, but if you are agreeable, next September's intake of new first years will take Muggle Studies as a core class. This is strictly a trial, not a permanent change," she cautioned as Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "There is no practical way of applying a scheme like this to the existing students without seriously disrupting their education to date, but we are willing to try it on next year's students to see if it will work."

She was grinning from ear to ear. "Minerva, that's fantastic!" A thought occurred to her. "What about the suggestions Severus made for History of Magic?"

The Headmistress grimaced again. "Drat the man, but he made some good points, much as I hate to admit it. I'm working on it. It will be a year or two, likely, before that can be changed, but the alteration to your classes was easier to arrange. I take it you are willing to try it?"

"Absolutely!" she agreed fervently.

Her former Head of House smiled fondly at her. "Hermione, my dear, you are the only member of staff – past, present, or future – who would be so overjoyed at the prospect of extra work."

She grinned at the older witch. "I was told just this morning that I am completely and utterly insane," she agreed mildly. "It was for a different reason, admittedly, but the principle still applies."

Minerva smiled at her. "I take it you were with a certain nameless wizard this morning, then? I suspected as much when I couldn't find you. I certainly don't begrudge you the time, dear, but in future, please inform me when you leave the grounds. And bear in mind that when you are teaching more often, you will have less free time to sneak away."

Doing her best to look apologetic, Hermione nodded. It was tempting to say that she actually hadn't left the grounds at all, but she rather thought that Minerva had endured all the Severus-based surprises she could cope with for one day. Dilys' portrait had gone into a not very convincing fit of coughing on the wall – somewhat obviously, since paintings didn't actually need to cough – and Albus was trying to hide a smile behind his hand. The portraits knew exactly where she had been. Even Phineas looked coolly amused, in his own way.

"How are things going with this man?" Minerva inquired now, her eyes twinkling slightly. "Indulge an old woman's need for gossip."

Biting back a snort – _stop channelling Albus; it's disturbing – _she shook her head, not even trying to stop the smile spreading across her face. "Wonderfully well, actually."

"Sooner or later you're going to have to reveal his identity, you know."

"I know," she replied, still smiling. "But right now, I'm voting for later. I really will tell you eventually, I promise." Ideally, not until after Minerva had retired.

"I shall hold you to that, my dear. You're pleased with this news, then?"

"More than you could possibly imagine, Minerva. Thank you."

"I hope it works. We'll discuss the specifics nearer the start of the new term. Right now, I imagine you wish to celebrate?"

"Well, yes," she admitted, smiling again.

Minerva shook her head. "Oh, to be young again... Go. I trust you will be back where you belong come Monday morning?"

"Of course," Hermione replied absently, already half way out of the door.

* * *

The dungeons were deserted when she arrived breathlessly in Severus' quarters; he had evidently been called away, since she doubted anything mundane would have dragged him out of bed given the state she had left him in. Deprived of the chance to vent her feelings, she settled for picking up and hugging an indignant and squirming Crookshanks, before raiding her own music collection and pouncing on Severus' laptop – something she usually wasn't permitted to do.

She had no idea how much time passed before his return, too preoccupied with her victory; she only ceased dancing wildly to Shania Twain when he demanded from the doorway, "What on earth are you doing?"

Over the cheerful notes of 'Any Man of Mine', she practically bounced across the room and threw herself into his arms, kissing him soundly before pulling away and laughing at his bewildered expression. "Hello, Severus! Where were you?"

Still staring at her as though he wasn't quite certain of her sanity, he took a moment to absorb the question, blinking before apparently mentally shaking himself and replying slowly, "There was a minor altercation between two Slytherins and a Hufflepuff on the stairs to the Owlery this morning. I repeat, what on earth are you doing?"

Laughing, Hermione kissed him again. "Celebrating," she declared.

Almost against his will, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Enough, you aggravating woman; cease babbling and explain yourself, before I dose you with a calming draught," he ordered. "And it had better be good to justify profaning my laptop with country music."

"I accept no criticism from anyone who listens to a man calling himself Alice," she retorted.

"Alice Cooper happens to be an excellent musician. Now, what has apparently driven you to madness?" he asked. "This time?" he added wryly.

"Minerva told me that next year we're going to be trialling Muggle Studies as a core subject for the new intake," she told him breathlessly, and had a moment to wonder whether he'd already known about it before he smiled suddenly and hugged her.

"Hermione, that's wonderful," he told her sincerely, and she beamed at him, knowing that he was happy just because she was happy, and that was absolutely lovely. And maybe she was a little giddy, she conceded, but when she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again he responded enthusiastically enough that she decided if he didn't mind, why should she?

* * *

The following weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, and to Hermione's dismay she had drawn chaperone duty. She'd managed to dodge out of it since February – she didn't want to walk down the street wondering if everyone she met had been part of the mob that had attacked Severus – but on this occasion she'd been left with no choice. With exams looming on the horizon, the students were mostly behaving themselves, at least, so the duty wasn't particularly onerous, but frankly she resented the loss of her Saturday. She had a new syllabus to plan and had wanted to spend some time with Severus, who was currently buried in NEWT Potions projects and getting more than a little surly about it. Apparently the current crop of NEWT students was without exception 'mediocre at best and highly unlikely to achieve anything worthwhile'.

Hogsmeade had lost a lot of its charm since her schooldays, she reflected. She had raided Flourish and Blott's, naturally, but the Hogsmeade branch was smaller than Diagon Alley and she usually bought books directly from their catalogue anyway; nothing had caught her fancy, and none of the other shops were particularly interesting. At least the weather was better, she supposed, but really, this was boring and she had better things to do.

As she passed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – they had bought out Zonko's after the war – a completely unexpected voice greeted her with a yell from the upper floor; "Little sister!"

"George?" she asked incredulously, shading her eyes and looking up, smiling at him. "I didn't know you were down here! You sneak, you could have said something!"

He Apparated directly down into the street in front of her and seized her in an exuberant bear hug. "It was a bit last minute. I was going to come up to the castle to see you before I went back to London, I promise."

"As if I believe your promises, George Weasley," she managed somewhat breathlessly. "Put me down, you oaf, before the students see."

"No customer of mine has eyeballs to spare for watching their teachers out of the window," he declared in an offended tone as he obeyed, before grinning at her. "It's been too long, little sister. I've not seen you since Christmas." Hermione smiled at him, no longer arguing about the nickname – _all _the Weasley brothers had christened her 'little sister' after she started dating Ron, and George and Bill still used it. "Come on in, we'll go up to the office and have a drink. Or are you too busy spoiling students' fun?"

"I think they can be left to their own devices for a little while," she conceded, following him into the crowded shop.

In typical George fashion, he waited until she was settled and had just taken a drink before he asked innocently, "So how are things with you and Snape?"

Once Hermione had recovered from her choking fit and cleaned up the coffee she had spat everywhere, she glared at the grinning redhead sitting opposite her.

"I was right, then?" he asked, grinning even more broadly.

"How did you know? Did Harry or Ginny tell you?"

"Oh, is that why they had a fight with you? I wondered what that was about." He shrugged. "Nah, I've known for ages. I guessed at Christmas. I mean, obviously this bloke was someone we all knew already, right? And when you said 'Slytherin'... Well, the only half-blood Slytherins I know of are Snape or Mouldymort himself, and he's kind of disqualified on account of being dead. Plus he's much more than twenty years older than you, and a bit snake-ish, not to mention the whole 'hating Muggleborns' attitude might have put a bit of a dampener on things. So that just leaves the greasy git himself."

"Oh, don't you start. I keep telling everyone to stop calling him that." She sighed. "You're not – angry?"

George gave her a blank look. "No. Why?" He frowned. "What have my baby sister and my dear brother-in-law been saying?"

She waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. But seriously, you don't mind?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

He grinned. "Would you rather I did?"

"No, of course not; it's just a bit... unexpected, that's all."

"Little sister, anyone with eyes can see someone's made you deliriously happy," he told her, with the closest he ever got to a serious expression. "Okay, it's a bit weird that it's apparently Snape, but if he makes you smile like that, I'm not going to argue. Obviously you're mental, but you don't seem to be _dangerously_ insane, so... no harm, no foul, I guess."

"Thanks," Hermione replied dryly. "I didn't think you'd take it so well."

He shrugged. "None of my business, is it?"

"Well, no, but I know what everyone thinks of Severus..."

"I actually kind of liked him, at least before you lot started at Hogwarts and turned him from a part-time git into a full-time one," George told her. "He was always a nasty piece of work, but... I dunno, really. Fred and I drove him barmy –"

"No!" Hermione gasped incredulously, grinning at him. "You two? But you were such a pair of angels!"

"Ha, ha, ha." He stuck his tongue out at her. "Anyway, in second year he gave us a full Saturday's detention copying out old hospital records. Stuff from St Mungo's, not just Hogwarts; records of Potions accidents, really gruesome and horrible ones. By lunchtime we were about ready to be sick, to be honest. He stopped the detention, called us over and told us, 'Potions is not a safe class to play tricks in. A joke in History of Magic is just a joke. A joke in Potions can kill someone.' Then he let us go."

"That sounds like him," she agreed softly. "The real him, anyway, not the snarling and vindictive bastard he pretends to be."

George grinned. "Well, you'd know. Anyway, we listened, and we stopped playing pranks in his classes." She gave him a doubtful look, and his grin broadened as he added, "In the practical classes, at least." He shrugged cheerfully. "He was a good teacher, too. Potions was one of the only three OWLs we passed. We didn't like him, of course, but he didn't like us either – he didn't like anyone, really, especially after you lot came to the school. And it was pretty fun watching him ripping into someone else – did you ever get to see him fight with old Toad-face Umbridge?"

Hermione grinned, remembering. "Oh, yes. I'd have loved to see more of that."

"She was in one of our lessons, too, and he ended up asking if she wanted to volunteer to be a test subject for the poisons we were brewing. Fred and I cheered him when she left, and I swear he nearly smiled. It looked like his face was going to crack, but it was nearly a smile." He shrugged again. "'Sides, he was our spy, wasn't he? Brave, to do that. I don't think anyone else could've done it."

"He hurt you, though. Your ear..."

The redhead smiled. "Well, yeah, but that's a nasty curse – I could've lost more than an ear. Anyway, Harry showed me that memory – he wasn't aiming at me, was he? It's really okay, 'Mione." After a pause, he added, "I still think you're barmy, though. Yeah, Ron's a prat, but he's a pretty prat. Not as pretty as me, of course..."

"Of course," she agreed dryly. "Anyway, Severus looks very different now; he's a lot better looking than he used to be."

"He'd have to be. It's not like he could get much worse, is it?"

"Oh, shut up." After a moment she grinned. "I think I've got a photo of him on my phone, actually. Do you still remember how to use a mobile phone?"

"Not really," he admitted, grinning back at her. "None of my mates have them. Let's see what old Snape looks like these days, then."

"It's not brilliant quality," she told him, switching her phone on and rapidly going through the menus to her picture gallery. "And you need to ignore the scowl – he doesn't like having his photo taken." She held the phone out.

"Blimey," George said, apparently impressed. "You're right, he definitely looks different." He made a show of peering at the screen. "You know, if you squint, he could pass for a human being."

"Very funny."

"So Harry and Ginny threw fits when you told them?"

"It wasn't quite as bad as all that, but we did have a bit of a flaming row. They apologised the next day, though, and they didn't actually mean any of the stuff they said."

"Stuff like what?"

"Oh, the usual – Snape's _evil, _Hermione, he's a _Death Eater, _Hermione, he's a _murderer, _Hermione. The first one is wrong and I already knew the other two." She shrugged and grinned. "And I nearly hexed Harry when he suggested it was some kind of really, really delayed rebound from Ron."

George started to laugh. "Us Weasleys are amazing, I know, but I don't think it would take anyone eight years to get over one of us – especially not ickle Ronniekins."

"That's what I told him – well, I was a bit nicer than that; once I'd calmed down, anyway."

"Apart from Mum, _maybe_ Harry, and Ron himself, I don't think anyone expected you two to be permanent," George told her. "You're too different, 'Mione. You're about a billion times smarter than he is, and you've always wanted to take the world by storm; Ron wants a clone of Mum, really, someone who'll stay home and raise the kids and have dinner on the table every night and tell him he's brilliant. I'm guessing Snape probably doesn't want that."

They both started laughing at the mental images. "No, he really doesn't," Hermione agreed, smiling. "He's happy to let me do what I want – more than that, he's interested..." She quickly outlined the proposed changes to the Hogwarts curriculum.

"That sounds really good, actually. Well, as good as extra lessons can be, anyway." George grinned at her. "You may not even get many Skiving Snackboxes used in those classes."

"This is where you're supposed to be nice and explain how the children are smuggling your products into the castle when there's a blanket ban on _everything _from your store."

"That's a trade secret, little sister. I could tell you, but –"

"– But then you'd have to hex me. Yes, I know." She rolled her eyes at him, smiling. "Are you working on anything new?"

"I dunno. I was thinking of maybe starting some basic healing products, for the kinds of scrapes students might not necessarily want to take to the nurse – starting with expanding our acne treatments."

"Oh, speaking of healing products, that reminds me – Severus is working on an ointment for treating old scars, especially those caused by hexes or injuries from magical creatures. Would Bill be interested in trialling it, do you think?"

George blinked. "Yeah, if it worked, he'd love it. I know some of the bigger scars have stiffened and he finds it hard to really smile properly. Does Snape know you're offering?"

"He suggested it, actually," Hermione told him, smiling at the look of surprise on her friend's face. "See, he really isn't the bastard we all remember."

"Fair enough. If it'd help Bill, that would be brilliant. So anyway, who else knows about you and Snape? I don't want to give the game away."

"Luna's known almost since it started. Then you guessed at Christmas; Neville worked it out a month or two later, I've told my parents, and I told Harry and Ginny a few weeks ago. That's it, so far. I want to tell your parents next."

"Good luck with that. Please let me know when you do it, so I can avoid going home for a while."

"You think it will be that bad?"

He made a waffling motion with one hand. "Could go either way, really. I know Mum's desperately curious about this man who's made you so happy, but she's also very protective of you even if you did have the bad taste to not marry her youngest boy. Dad worries about you too, but not as badly – I don't think he'll mind as long as you're happy, but he'll go along with whatever Mum thinks."

"I know all that, but actually I don't think it's going to be that bad," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, they've known Severus a long time; they must have seen a lot of him in the first war, when he first changed sides. Your mum only had a few children to distract her then, not an entire army, and I know there were a few Order meetings at the Burrow – Severus has hinted that she tried to mother him to death."

George grinned. "He probably did look like he needed feeding up; that always triggers Mum's instincts. Good point. But then there's my ear, and what happened to Ginny when Snape was Headmaster."

She grimaced. "I know, but if you don't mind your ear then your mum isn't allowed to. As for what happened to Ginny... You're not stupid, George. It could have been so much worse. Ginny was sixteen, pretty, a blood traitor, and linked to Harry. What do you think any other Death Eater would have done to her?"

"I try not to think about that," he said quietly. "But yeah, it's occurred to me. Fred and I tried to get her to leave and come hide out with the rest of us, but she wouldn't."

"Well, then, there you are. It doesn't make it right, not even close, but Severus was protecting her as much as he could. And he still has nightmares about it."

"I suppose you're right. I don't know if Mum and Dad will see it that way, but if you can keep them calm long enough to explain it, then it might be okay. And if he can make something that helps Bill, that'll earn him a lot of points."

"He shouldn't need them, really," Hermione mused, before looking at George. "He saved your dad's life, you know."

George blinked. "When?"

"After he was attacked by Nagini in the Ministry, it was Severus who made the anti-venin. The Healers at St Mungo's kept him alive and fixed the bleeding, but the poison damage was treated by Severus."

"I never knew that! Nobody said anything."

"I'm not sure many people knew. I didn't know until about a year ago, and only because Severus mentioned it when he was explaining how _he _survived. It was his work healing Arthur that helped him create a way to build up tolerance of Nagini's poison."

"He knew it would be the snake that killed him?" George asked sceptically.

"No, but he's paranoid even by Slytherin standards. He was literally prepared for everything he could think of."

"Fair enough; if I was doing what he did, I'd be pretty paranoid too. I expect he could've given old Moody a run for his money."

"Definitely," she agreed, smiling. "So anyway, that's how I'll be explaining it to your parents."

"I can tell Bill and Charlie if you like. _And _Percy the Prat-faced Wonder. I'm guessing you want to tell Ron yourself?"

"Well, I'd rather not tell him at all, frankly, but yes. Not for a long time yet, though. I want to know how everyone else takes it first..."

He grinned. "Don't worry, we'll rally round and help hold him down long enough to listen. Tell you what... when are you going to tell Mum and Dad?"

"I don't know. I'd like to do it soon, but this term's busy, and over the summer I'm hopefully going to be visiting my parents."

"That's brilliant. Anyway, let's aim for making sure everyone knows by your birthday, say."

"What are you planning, George?"

"I'm thinking maybe you should bring Snape with you at Christmas. It'll be a kind of baptism of fire for him, with everyone around, but it'll give everyone a chance to meet him again and with so many people around it won't be as bad as if there were only one or two of us to focus on him, if that makes sense. Plus we'll all be there to stop Ron being... well, being Ron."

"Hmm."

George eyed her. "Okay, that's not the most enthusiastic face I've ever seen, 'Mione. Change of plan, then?"

"No, no, sorry. I'm just trying to think it through. I'd love it, but..."

"_He _wouldn't?"

"Not really, no. He'd... absolutely hate it. _But, _having said that, he's going to have to meet you all again eventually – I'm not going to spend the rest of my life having to keep my friends separate from him. And you're right, there will be so much going on that he won't be quite so much in the spotlight. He'll hate it whenever we do it, frankly."

"We're not that bad, you know."

She smiled at him. "Oh, I don't know – the full clan is a pretty frightening sight," she mused, remembering how Severus had told her that huge family gatherings made him very uncomfortable. "But really, it's nothing to do with you – he'll be fine about most of you, I'd think. It's seeing Harry again he's really going to hate – it's very personal, really. I don't know how much Harry told you..." Understandably, George hadn't been in any condition to listen to the finer points of the conversation at the end of the battle, all his attention on his fallen twin; she wasn't sure if he knew about Lily or not.

George looked almost serious. "Not everything, which I'm fine with – like I said, none of my business. I know there was some big secret that somehow left Snape feeling obligated to protect Harry, and I know it was something pretty personal, and I know that Snape's death shook Harry up a lot. And I've got a couple of ideas, but I'm not going to say anything."

"Thanks, George. I wouldn't mind you knowing, but it's really not my secret to tell."

The redhead sat back in his chair and observed airily, "Old Snape doesn't hate Gryffindors as much as he pretends to, does he? Not female ones, at least."

"See, the weird thing about you is that you don't _look _smart," Hermione told him dryly, suspecting that it hadn't just been a lucky guess – he'd known already, it seemed.

"I look so devastatingly handsome that there's simply no space left for me to look anything else," he replied, grinning. "Would he go for the Christmas idea, if you asked him?"

"What makes you think I can persuade him to do anything?"

"You nagged Ron into passing almost all his exams. I'm pretty sure you could talk the sun into rising in the middle of the night. Would Snape do it if you asked?"

Reheating her now cold coffee, she sipped it, thinking about the question. Most of the time, Severus was happy to allow her to have her own way, but she had never pressed him on anything really important, and she knew there was a point where he wouldn't let her push him any further, and she didn't really want to find that point any time soon. "I really don't know," she said finally. "He might do, but he might not."

"All right... change the plan a bit. Boxing Day, not Christmas Day. A bit of a smaller gathering. No kids – I don't see Snape being fond of small children, especially not ones related to Harry in any way, shape or form, and there's likely to be a couple of fights so they shouldn't be there anyway. Just us immediate Weasleys, plus Harry and Fleur – no girlfriends – and you and Snape. You come for lunch and stay until he can't stand it any more or until it all blows up and someone ends up bleeding on the floor."

"That sounds better. I might be able to persuade him to go for that. But I've got to try and talk him into meeting my parents over the summer, which is going to be a bit of a battle. And if your parents – well, your mum, really – absolutely go berserk over the idea, then it's all a moot point anyway."

"True. Okay, well, we've got a sort of plan, and it's seven months away yet. We'll worry about it nearer the time."

"Thanks, George. It's great to find someone who's not fighting me on this. You've never once asked me if I'm _sure _about him."

He grinned at her. "Little sister, I've known you since you were eleven. You've never done anything you weren't sure of. And the way you've been talking about this wizard of yours for months on end... it's pretty obvious, really. Snape's smart, like you, and presumably he doesn't act like a total git towards you, and he's helped you make amends with your parents, and he's helping you get the job you've always wanted. I don't really see much to argue about."

Standing up, she walked over to him and leaned down to hug him, and for once he returned it without making a smutty comment. "Thank you, George." Pulling away, she smiled at him. "Anyway, enough about me; how are you? The business is obviously doing well. How's Angelina? Have you proposed again yet? You must be due for another attempt."

"Nah, not yet. I thought this time I might actually look at rings first."

"I notice you don't say you're going to _get _a ring."

"Nope, but I can show her a picture of a ring."

"I don't know why she puts up with you."

"Because I'm amazing, that's why." He grinned. "And because her not saying yes is driving Mum batty, and that's always worth doing. We'll get around to it eventually. What about you and Snape, any plans there?"

"God, no. Can you imagine the headlines in the _Prophet? _Neither of us wants that. It's not worth the hassle, and that sounds really horrible of me, doesn't it?"

"A bit, yeah," he told her cheerfully, "but I know what you meant. The _Prophet _does seriously hate you, 'Mione, and Snape's probably a bit sick of having his personal life plastered all over the place. Although I'd love to see some of the headlines they could come up with..."

"I wouldn't," Hermione said with feeling. "Anyway, I'd better be going, I suppose. You'll be writing to Bill, Charlie and Percy?"

"Sure. I'll write and let you know what they say. And I'll tell Bill about the scar stuff, too."

"Thanks again, George."

* * *

Wandering back to the dungeons that afternoon in a thoughtful frame of mind, Hermione announced to the room at large, "I have had a very good day indeed."

Crookshanks, asleep on the sofa, ignored her. Severus, at his desk and scowling at the roll of parchment in front of him as though trying to set fire to it with the power of his glare, growled, "Good for you. I have not." Without looking up, he added, "You were babysitting. How was that a good day?"

"I met George Weasley and spent the afternoon chatting with him."

"How pleasant."

"And then we wandered off into the woods to continue our torrid affair."

"Don't be absurd."

"You could at least pretend to be a bit jealous."

"If there was even the remotest chance that you were serious, nobody would ever find his body. Or yours." That probably wasn't a joke, she reflected idly; Severus had always taken loyalty very seriously. If she ever were unfaithful to him, he probably would kill her. And then himself. _Just as well I don't plan to cheat, then, really._ Under the circumstances, she had absolutely no problems with monogamy.

"You really are in a lovely mood this afternoon." She crossed the room to stand behind him, resting her hands lightly on his hunched shoulders and looking at the desk. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find appropriate words to inform my seventh years that no, I am not going to permit them to brew either illegal poisons or illegal love potions for their final project." He made a sound of pure irritation and shook his head. "I should hex them and be done with it. I suspect they have made some sort of bet; none of them are stupid enough to seriously believe I would allow any of these proposals."

Hermione nodded sympathetically and started gently digging her fingers into his shoulders. "No doubt you'll come up with a suitably horrific and gruesome punishment for them, but right now I want to talk about my lovely day, not listen to you bitching."

He grunted as her fingers found a knot of tension. "Heaven forbid I should interrupt your starry-eyed raving. Please, do continue."

Smothering a smile, she continued rubbing his shoulders. "As I said, I spent the afternoon chatting to George. He already knows about the two of us, you know – out of everyone, he's the only one who actually worked out the clues at Christmas and realised he only knew two half-blood Slytherins who were so much older and one of them was, in his words, 'disqualified on account of being dead', amongst other things. And it was absolutely wonderful to just sit and chat to someone who wasn't judging me or trying to convince me that you were evil and likely to horribly murder me in my sleep."

"They might be right, as far as that last goes," he muttered, before making a low sound in his throat that was perilously close to a groan as her thumbs dug in to a sore spot.

"Anyway," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, progressing into a proper massage, "we had a long talk and he helped me draw up a campaign to convince the other Weasleys. He's going to talk to most of his brothers, and I know what to say to Molly and Arthur when I get around to it, and Ron can wait until there are plenty of people around to hold him down."

"Your insanity is progressing at an alarming rate," he informed her, arching his back a little as another knot of tension dissolved under her fingers. "I ought to have you committed."

"I should have been committed a long time ago. Look who I'm living with."

"Crookshanks isn't that bad..." He trailed off as her hands tightened warningly, and she felt him tense. "Don't do that."

"Sorry." Relaxing her grip, she carefully moved her hands a little further away from his neck, rubbing his shoulders soothingly by way of further apology. Kneading his tense muscles, she felt him relax once more and smiled, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head. "So tell me about your dreadful day."

"There is very little to tell. I was stuck inside all day battling with mounds of paperwork, culminating in my seventh-years' dismal attempt at wit that at the very least is going to lose them all a great many House points and may result in their organs being harvested for Potions ingredients." He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled slowly, shivering and arching into her hands a little. "And now a possibly insane witch is assaulting me."

"To use a favoured argument, Professor," she murmured into his ear, "you aren't putting up much of a fight."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked silkily, drawing away from her hands and turning to look up at her.

Losing patience, she grinned at him. "Shut up and kiss me, you daft man." His dark eyes almost sparkled with quiet laughter as he stood up, rolling his shoulders appreciatively before reaching for her and doing as he was told. Melting into the kiss for a moment, she drew away and smiled up at him. "I do believe I have just successfully teased the feared Professor Snape out of a murderous mood. I could make a fortune with that skill."

"Hermione."

"Yes? Was there something you wanted?"

"Shut up."

"Now, that's just rude. There's no need to speak to me like that, you know. Good manners cost nothing, and all that."

Severus gave her an exasperated glare, before his expression altered to a frown and his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Hermione, you spent the afternoon with Mr Weasley. Did you eat or drink anything he gave you?"

Puzzled, she blinked at him. "Yes, we had coffee, but... Oh." Abruptly she realised that she had been babbling like a lunatic for the past quarter of an hour. "I'm going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. Possibly you could give me some pointers?" Closing her mouth with an audible snap, she took a deep breath and let it out. "Please," she said slowly, concentrating on every word to make sure she didn't say anything else, "tell me you have an antidote for this."

"I don't know what he's given you. This isn't the usual Babbling Beverage." She glared at him; his expression was blank and neutral as ever, but she could tell that he was fighting not to laugh. "Nonetheless, I will do my best, for the sake of my sanity – and my eardrums – if nothing else."

* * *

Whatever George had given her, its effects grew considerably worse as the afternoon progressed into evening. Severus no longer found it quite so amusing; she suspected he was only minutes from hitting her with the strongest Silencing Charm he could manage, or possibly simply Stunning her. By the time he finally managed to reverse the effects, Hermione was almost crying and her throat was sore, and he was in a towering fury – which mercifully was not directed at her.

Sipping miserably at a glass of water, she watched him patiently putting together a Howler which informed George in his iciest and most dangerous Professor-Snape-the-Death-Eater, I-have-had-a-very-bad-day voice that if he ever, _ever _tried an experimental potion on Hermione again without being certain of all possible effects and their duration, the next body part he lost would _not _be an accident and would be nothing so benign as an ear, and if he ever wanted to give his mother grandchildren he would immediately reply with an explanation of what he had given her. By the time he returned from the Owlery, she felt completely wretched and slightly nauseous, and wasn't happy about it.

"It really had been a lovely day until this happened," she said hoarsely.

"It's going to get worse, I'm afraid," he said softly, watching her with a disquieted expression. "I think you may be in for a bad night. You seem to have reacted to one of the ingredients in whatever that idiot gave you."

"How can you tell?"

"The fact that your face is currently paler than mine was a clue." She looked up at him; from his expression, he was trying to make a joke of it, but he looked worried and somewhere behind his eyes was a hint of the bottomless fury he could be capable of.

"Can you..." She hated how pitiful her voice suddenly sounded.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Until I know what the problem is, I daren't give you anything else. You're going to have to ride it out until Weasley replies and tells me what he gave you."

Before she could reply, the low-level nausea roiling in her stomach grew worse, and she felt sweat beading on her forehead as she scrambled up and dashed for the bathroom and one of the worst evenings of her life.

* * *

The night passed in a blur of misery. When she wasn't actually being sick, she curled up next to the toilet, leaning against the wall and trying not to whimper. She was vaguely aware of Severus' constant presence, casting charms when needed or simply keeping an eye on her, but it all seemed a bit far away. At one point she was aware of Crookshanks' worried meow, but the cat didn't come too close.

Briefly, she drifted into awareness once more to see Severus preparing to send a message via Patronus; the silver fox crouched in front of him as he yelled, "_So help me, Weasley, if I don't get an owl from you in half an hour or less telling me everything that was in that potion of yours, I'm coming after you myself, and when I find you you're going to wish you had never been born!_" Hermione remembered thinking fuzzily that she hadn't heard him so angry in a long time.

When she came to herself once more, he was sitting beside her with his arms around her, murmuring softly in a musical, sing-song language that she didn't recognise. "Severus..." she whispered.

"Hermione?" He drew back enough to look down at her, brushing a stray curl back from her face; he had tied her hair back out of the way, but there were always one or two locks that fought any kind of restraint. "How are you feeling?"

"Ghastly." She rested her aching head against his shoulder. "Did George reply?"

He growled wordlessly before answering. "He did. He claims – rather nervously – that it was nothing experimental, that it was one of his existing products that has never caused any problems before, a combination of the Babbling Beverage and a Cheering Concoction, and that none of his ingredients had been compromised. He furnished me with a list, and if it is accurate I see nothing untoward. It seems you are either allergic, or you were merely unlucky."

"Is this what happens when you drink Skele-Gro?" she asked him uncertainly.

"More or less, yes," he replied. "Hence my belief that this is an allergic reaction of some sort."

"Oh. Guess I'll stop telling you to fix your leg, then."

"Thank Heaven for small mercies." His heart obviously wasn't in the sarcasm, but the attempt made her smile a little as she nestled her face into his neck. "Come on," he told her gently. "I believe the worst is over. You merely need to sleep it off now." He helped her to her feet and supported her while she cleaned her teeth and sipped a glass of water before he lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed, spooning around her and holding her until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

When she woke, Hermione almost didn't dare to move, but a few moments' careful pause revealed that whatever had been wrong yesterday, she seemed to have got it out of her system. She felt very tired and a little weak and shaky, but otherwise reasonably all right. Relieved, she opened her eyes and stretched cautiously, looking around.

Severus was lying on his stomach beside her, his head pillowed on his arms and his eyes watching her face. "Good morning," he greeted her in a gravelly voice. "Have you returned amongst the living?"

"For now," she agreed. "You sound dreadful."

He looked mildly amused. "Thank you."

Studying him more closely, she sighed. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Obviously not," he replied, as if there was nothing wrong with that.

_Hopeless, daft, sweet man... _Most of the time he was happy to leave her to take care of herself, but when the situation demanded it he did have a strong protective streak, and if he wanted to stay awake all night watching over her, well, there was no real way she could stop him. Shaking her head, she gave him a reproachful look that he ignored utterly, and commented, "Well, at least if you were guarding me all night I can assume that George is still alive."

"Not for long," he growled, hot anger flaring in his eyes for a moment with an intensity that made her regret saying anything.

"Careful, Severus. If you kill him, you'll draw the fabled wrath of Molly Weasley. She's been known to do insane things in defence of her children – ask Bellatrix. Well, you can't, which is sort of my point."

After a moment he snorted and relaxed. "You're obviously feeling better."

"I'm just glad this is Sunday. I've seen you teach on very little sleep, and you're frightening. On no sleep at all, the dungeons would run with blood."

"Well, they _are _dungeons," he pointed out logically.

"Good point. Is it true you've got your own torture chamber down here somewhere?"

He growled a rough laugh. "Not quite; it's not mine, and I've never used it. But there is a room filled with old torture devices, it's true."

"What a lovely feature for a school. Whose idea was that?"

"Umm." He rolled onto his side and regarded her pensively. "Technically, I shouldn't tell you. The Headmaster or Headmistress is privy to the full and complete history of Hogwarts; as you might expect, the parts that are not public knowledge are rather unpleasant, and no, I am not referring to house elves," he added whimsically, earning himself a glare for the reference that made him smirk at her. Hermione was certain that nobody was ever going to allow her to forget about SPEW, not if she lived to be five hundred. She still had no idea how Severus had found out about it.

He continued, "The dungeons' more... salient features come courtesy of a former Headmaster, a charming brute of a man who almost certainly murdered his predecessor. Hogwarts was not as... aware... in those days as it is now, or he would not have managed it. He was a practitioner of the Dark Arts and a severe deviant in many ways, and sought a way to provide himself with an ample supply of... victims."

"That's horrible."

"Quite. Part of his story may simply be legend – he has no portrait, so it is hard to tell – but there is an old torture chamber down here that was clearly heavily used at one point. There are other things down here too, including a room nobody can bear to enter for more than a few seconds. I managed seventeen seconds once, and that was many years ago, before the second war."

"What's in there?" she asked, morbidly curious.

"Apparently nothing at all; it is simply an empty cell. No stains, no damp, nothing to indicate that it was ever used. But the air in there is icy cold, and when you enter..." He trailed off and shrugged slightly. "Imagine what a room would feel like if it contained the ghost of a Dementor. That is the effect. You hear screams, feel terrible emotions."

"I really want to accuse you of making this up, but I don't think you are."

"No, I am not. I can show you the room someday, if you wish."

"Maybe, but I'm not really in the mood for a ghost tour." She sat up and stretched gingerly, looking down at him. "Should you have told me any of that?"

He shrugged again. "No, probably not, but the Head is technically free to speak of such matters to anyone they choose."

"Just tell me those rooms are sealed from students."

Severus smiled mockingly up at her. "Now, why would such a thing be necessary? The mere threat of the Dungeon Bat is more than sufficient to discourage the idly curious from wandering. Besides, the passage leading to them is under the lake and is usually half-flooded." His voice still sounded rough and gravelly, and he looked exhausted.

Hermione shook her head at him. "Story time is over for today. You look dreadful."

"Such flattery, Professor Granger," he drawled, and she rolled her eyes.

"Enough. I mean it, Severus, get some rest."

"Can't yet," he muttered; just the mention of rest had loosened his control and he looked half asleep already. "There are potions simmering in the lab for the hospital wing."

"I'll do it. Whatever they are, they're obviously finished and maturing or you wouldn't have left them. I'm quite capable of decanting a potion and carrying it to the Infirmary without your expert supervision. And be honest, Severus, you were going to come up with some excuse to ask me to do it anyway."

He didn't bother to deny it. "That was before last night."

"I'm all right now, more or less. Go to sleep. I'll come and join you once I've been to the hospital wing, and by tomorrow we might be fit to teach again." He opened his mouth to argue, and she glared at him; he subsided with a look of open amusement.

"Fine; God forbid I should argue with a woman so... determined. Go. And if you fall down the stairs, don't tell me about it," he added, trying to stifle a yawn.

"And give you something else to mock me for?" she asked, smiling at him. "I'm not daft." Leaning down, she kissed him lightly before sliding out of bed. "I'll see you later."

She strongly suspected he was asleep before she had even left the room.

* * *

_Yet more fanart (I love you guys), from **Tempted Sacrifice**: _caughtby dot deviantart dot com /#/d3ccede


	29. Chapter 29

_Over 900 reviews! Just to make things interesting, I promise something special for whoever manages to submit my 1,000th review...__  
_

* * *

**"****Good luck! I wish you well,**  
**And for all that wishes may be worth**  
**I hope that love and strength**  
**Are with you for the length of your time on earth**.**"**  
– David Essex, 'A Winter's Tale'.

* * *

"Poppy?" she called, nudging the door a little wider with her foot.

"Hermione, is that you?" The elderly mediwitch looked much the same as she had when Hermione was a student, save that her hair had now gone completely grey; certainly her smile was as warm as ever. "I haven't seen you in ages, my dear. What brings you up here on a Sunday?"

"I've brought you presents. Exam-strength Calming Drought, courtesy of Severus."

"Ah, excellent!" Briskly the nurse took possession of the box. "Go on into my office, Hermione; I've just made tea. I'll be with you as soon as I've put these away. I'd like to talk to you if you have time."

Her curiosity piqued, Hermione nodded. "Of course, Poppy..."

When they were both settled, the nurse looked at her. "You spend more time with him than anyone, Hermione – I've wanted to ask you for a while now if you know why Severus is avoiding the hospital wing whenever possible." Hermione blinked at her, and the older woman explained, "Oh, he still brews most of the stock, but somehow he always manages to deliver it when I'm busy or not here; and when one or other of his Slytherins has ended up here he speaks to me as little as possible and always when there is someone else in the room. I just wondered if you knew why, or were in a position to guess. I'd ask him, but... well, this is Severus."

She smiled. "True." Sipping carefully at her tea, Hermione considered the question, taking careful note of the mediwitch's expression. Severus would be furious if she interfered, but she knew they were genuinely fond of one another, or at least they had been once; and frankly, he couldn't afford to lose anyone who saw him as anything close to a friend. He didn't have enough of them to risk it, as unfair as that was. "As it happens, I do know. I asked him outright, back in February."

"And?"

"He's ashamed," Hermione said quietly. "He told me that you could never forgive him for killing Albus, or for putting so many students in the hospital wing during his year as Headmaster, but I think the real problem is that he can't forgive himself for it."

Poppy sighed, looking exasperated. "I thought it might be something like that. Stubborn, foolish man! Oh, he was right at the time; I couldn't forgive him for it. But once I found out the whole story..." She shrugged and sighed again. "I truly grieved when I thought he was dead. In this job, I see so many students that it's almost impossible to single out individuals, but Severus was always different. I saw him far more often than any other pupil – even Harry never racked up so much time here – and of course I saw the price of his changing sides, through both wars." The older woman sipped her tea and gave Hermione a penetrating look. "And this past year is the first time I have ever seen him even close to happy for longer than a few moments at a time, even when he was very young. Today I am starting to suspect the reason for that."

She tried her best to look innocently puzzled without being too obvious about it. "I don't know what you mean, Poppy."

The mediwitch smiled. "No? There's some other explanation for why he's trusted you with his precious potions, and why he apparently answered a personal question when you asked him directly, is there?" Hermione tried not to squirm in her chair, and Poppy shook her head, leaning forward to touch her arm. "Don't look so worried, dear. I'm not angry or shocked or appalled or anything else; far from it. It's been far too long since I saw that man with any life in his eyes. If you're both happy – and I think you are – then so am I."

After a moment's struggle, she gave in and smiled. "I am happy, truly. And I'm pretty sure he is, although obviously he doesn't show it."

"Oh, you do know him." Poppy chuckled softly. "He's happy, believe me. It's been a long time since I've seen that from him, but I remember what it looked like. He had a surprisingly sweet smile when he was a boy, probably because it was so rare."

"What was he really like back then? I've seen memories, bits and pieces, and he's told me a little..."

"If you ask anyone else who knew him, they would tell you he was bitter and angry and had a dark streak that gave him a nasty temper, that he was vindictive and cold." The nurse settled more comfortably in her chair. "I first met Severus in the first fortnight of his first term. I remember him as a small, skinny boy, with bruises just fading on his ribs and the oldest and most jaded eyes I have ever seen before or since. He was bitter, yes, but he was also terribly lonely and – not sad, but sorrowful. He had a dark streak, too, but it grew darker because of the way he was treated. He was very quiet, polite enough but not willing to talk to me, and he had the wounded air that abused children have. I knew even then that I would be seeing a lot of him.

"In those first years, he was quiet and – resigned, more than anything. That dark bitterness was more sadness than anything else. The anger came later, when he realised that it wasn't going to stop, that if he wanted to survive he would have to fight for himself. All boys grow more aggressive in adolescence, and Severus had more reason than most, as well as more opportunity to allow that side of him out. It began in self defence, but it didn't end that way. I tried to do what I could, but there were too many people set against him. Once things reached a certain point, there was no saving him from destroying himself. I had seen it before with other students who later went bad, but I always wanted better for him. He never seemed to really have a chance."

Poppy shook her head sadly, sorrow in her eyes. "I knew the moment he was truly lost. I saw it in his face, and in that moment I could have killed Albus myself. Has Severus told you...?"

"About the Shack? Yes. I knew the facts already, but he's talked about it."

"I understand why Albus made the decision he did. I even agree with it, in part – I always felt very sorry for poor Remus, and I wanted to protect him as well. But the way Albus handled it was utterly unforgiveable. I watched him walk over to a terribly traumatised boy – I've seldom seen any child quite as afraid as Severus was that night, fortunately – and tell him that if he ever told anyone that someone had tried to set him up and get him killed, his memory would be forcibly erased. I had Severus under close observation that night; he just sat on his bed, hugging his knees and staring at the moon out of the window, for hours. He never moved, not until the sun came up. I watched something die in him that night and I knew he was lost to us. Even with the wars, that night remains one of the most terrible things I have ever seen."

"He told me that was the night he decided to join Voldemort," Hermione agreed softly. "He said he had considered it before, seriously thought about it, but it wasn't until that night that he finally made his mind up."

Poppy nodded soberly. "I don't blame him. The Light didn't want him and didn't care what happened to him, so he might as well go to the Dark because he didn't have anything to lose. But even then, we might have saved him. If Albus had handled him a little more gently, if he had found some other reason to punish Sirius or even simply acknowledged what had truly happened and explained why he wasn't punishing him, rather than repeating that hollow lie about a prank – it might have been enough. At sixteen, there was still something gentle in Severus, something good. I saw it die that night. He still has remnants of it, perhaps, but he will never be what he should have been. Even if someone had just stood by him, he might have been saved; if Lily had forgiven him, I suppose I mean, since he never had anyone else on his side.

"I don't know why they fell out, and I don't want to know; it's none of my business. But I think for Severus, that was the beginning of the end. He was utterly devoted to her; I saw it in his face every time she brought his homework to the infirmary and stayed to cheer him up. I always thought it a great pity that she never saw it."

"Severus thinks she did see it," Hermione said softly. "He believes that part of the reason why she never forgave him was because she didn't feel the same way he did and didn't know how to discourage him, that she used the fight as an excuse to end a friendship that she found uncomfortable. He might be right... their fight was his fault, but it was a genuine accident and it wasn't serious enough to justify abandoning him completely after so many years."

Frankly, although she didn't intend saying this to either Severus or Harry, she privately thought that Lily Evans Potter had been a bit of a selfish bitch. She'd hurt Severus so badly that he still had psychological scars from it nearly thirty years later, and for no real reason. What he had said was terrible, certainly, but he had been angry and humiliated and possibly a little scared, as his usual gang of bullies managed to create a mob; he had been justified in saying something that he clearly hadn't meant, and he had tried desperately to apologise and make things right.

Hermione wasn't sure how she would have reacted in that situation; she would certainly have been angry and hurt, but she liked to think that she wouldn't have responded by cruelly joining in the taunting before refusing to ever speak to him again. They had been best friends since they were nine years old, and Lily had just walked away from that – and, ultimately, abandoned him to the Death Eaters. Maybe there had been other reasons, but Hermione still thought it was selfish. After all, she was the one who had to live with Severus as he was now, isolated and mistrustful and so painfully damaged. It took such a monumental effort for him to open up to her even a little, to trust her even slightly.

Poppy continued, interrupting her private musing. "I saw very little of him after that night. He had begun treating his own injuries years ago; he only came to me if it was serious or if he wanted the sanctuary of the hospital wing for some reason. I remember watching him graduate; he was the only student not smiling, the only student with nothing to smile about. I didn't see him again until after he had begun teaching here; he came to talk to me once, and I told him – much to my shame now – that I had nothing to say to anyone with that mark on their arm. He didn't argue; he just looked at me with those jaded, tired eyes, and left without saying anything. Months after that, Albus woke me one night and explained that Severus had changed sides to spy on Voldemort for us, and asked me to help treat him.

"Severus was a mess. He was covered in blood and shaking so much he couldn't speak clearly or walk; his injuries were terrible. But his eyes were worse; he looked... I don't know how to describe it."

"Like he's watching dreadful things, things you can't see," Hermione supplied softly, "and like he isn't surprised to see them. Accepting, as if something so terrible makes sense to him, as if it's normal; as if nothing can change it and nobody will try. He still gets that look sometimes."

The nurse nodded slowly. "Yes, that's it. It's not despair, precisely, or even apathy. It's..."

"Not being hopeless, but the absence of hope."

The two women exchanged looks, acknowledging that Hermione had just pinpointed precisely what Severus' greatest problem was and what lay at the heart of this tragedy; the absence of hope. It was that which made him so terribly broken. It simply never seemed to occur to him that there might be something better or that things shouldn't be as bad as they were. He knew that, obviously, but he couldn't understand how that related to his own life; he seemed to feel that different rules applied to him, that he didn't deserve anything else.

"Tell me, Hermione... how is he now? I see him so rarely. I believe he's happy, but..."

She thought for a while, knowing what Madam Pomfrey was really asking. "He has good days and bad days," she said finally. "Lately there have been far more good days than bad. He's... getting there, Poppy. I don't think he's ever going to be completely – what most people would call _normal._ He'll never heal completely. But... you know how strong he is, to have survived everything. I think he broke down entirely during what I keep thinking of as his exile; alone, he suffered a psychological breakdown, and he put himself back together. Nobody else could have done it. There are still times when he lashes out at everyone, and there are nights when he has terrible dreams, and there are times when he gets so depressed and miserable that it hurts to watch... but not very often. Most of the time, he really is happy."

Shaking her head, Hermione smiled. "All those years, and I never realised just what sort of man Severus really is. He's unbelievably sweet and gentle sometimes, he really is."

Poppy blinked. "Are you sure we're talking about the same man? I'm very fond of Severus, but 'sweet'is _not_ a word I would use to describe him, and nor is 'gentle', come to that."

Hermione grinned. "Nor would I, really, but he is, sometimes. Do you know the real reason I delivered those potions this morning? Because I wasn't feeling well yesterday, so he stayed awake the entire night watching over me, to make sure I was all right, and I insisted on bringing the potions today so he could get some sleep."

The older woman looked delighted by this information. "Really? Do tell me more."

Fighting off giggles – Severus was going to be _furious_ – she obliged. "You know that I made contact with my parents again just after the New Year? That wasn't my doing; I had no idea where they were. But before Christmas, Severus went off and tracked down their current address for me – I didn't ask him to, and he didn't tell me he was thinking of it, just came back and gave me their address. He doesn't do things like that very often, but when he does, he really means it."

The nurse was laughing now. "I never would have guessed. Are you seriously telling me that Severus Snape is a secret romantic?"

Hermione lost it completely at that point. When she finally managed to stop laughing enough to talk, she shook her head breathlessly. "Not quite that bad! But every so often, he just does really sweet things, completely out of the blue. My otter ring, for example – that was from him. That was a long time before there was anything between us, he didn't mean it romantically, but he had it custom made for me to – well, basically, to thank me for helping him come back to the wizarding world." At least, she was pretty sure that was why; with Severus, it was often hard to tell what his motivation was, and she had never actually asked him about it.

"I'm not sure I believe this, you know."

"Oh, it's not very often, and he hates it being acknowledged in any way – he likes to pretend it's just a coincidence. He drives me mad a lot of the time, and I'm not sure whether I want to kiss him or strangle him. He's snarky and irritating and mocking and stubborn and utterly infuriating, but..."

"Oh, my dear, you are hopelessly and completely in love with him, aren't you?" Poppy asked softly, smiling.

Hermione smiled back ruefully. "I really am. It's daft, really, isn't it? I can't explain it, but he makes me happy, even when I want to smack him. It's all the little things – he's got this way of smiling at me so that you can't even really see it, it's just this tiny change in his eyes; you can be looking right at him and miss it. He likes Crookshanks – I swear, that cat is half the reason we were friends in the first place. He's – he'll kill me for telling you this – he's a cuddler, especially when he's half asleep, or pretending to be half asleep to give himself an excuse. He's got a way of doing things without drawing attention to it, just subtly trying to make things better or easier. It _is _sweet, even if the word doesn't suit him."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Madam Pomfrey said archly, "And, of course, that voice of his doesn't hurt."

Hermione started laughing again. "That's very true. I could quite happily sit and listen to him reading the cleaning supply inventory. When he says my name in a certain tone, I almost literally melt. It's a bit embarrassing, really."

"It's perfectly understandable, dear. When his voice first broke, nobody seemed to take much notice, but by the time he came back to Hogwarts as a teacher, he'd learned how to use it. Believe me, everyone sat up and listened at the first staff meeting. I'm half convinced he hypnotises his students just with the power of his voice."

"Umm. You might be right. I still remember every word of all my Potions lectures. Even when I was eleven, I paid _very _close attention." She grinned. "It's probably just as well the rest of him was so unhealthy looking, or half the school would never have done any work for mooning after him, no matter how horrible he was to us."

"You say 'unhealthy' rather than 'unattractive'?"

"Yes; because he _is _attractive, in his own way. He doesn't see it, which is also really quite sweet; he honestly doesn't know. But anyway, there's this – charisma to him. You can feel the force of his personality, especially when he focuses on you. I don't know, I really don't understand why nobody else seems to see it."

"Because they don't _want _to, Hermione. If they acknowledge that Severus isn't a twisted, ugly monster, then they have to treat him as a human being, which means they've been wrong for all this time." Poppy smiled and sat back. "I'm glad you found one another. It's obvious you adore him, but better than that, you love him for who he is, not for who you think he ought to be. He needs acceptance as much as love, and you're giving him that. And you've found something in him that I didn't think still existed; if half of what you've told me today is true, he'd do anything for you."

Hermione smiled gently. "I know he would, but I don't want him to. I just want him to be himself, because that makes me happy. He's spent his whole life doing things for other people. I won't be part of that; he's still healing."

"Does he suffer at all?"

She hesitated, before saying softly, "He cries in his sleep, you know. Completely silently; no sobs, no noise, just tears. It's not nightmares; those are rare now. He just cries, soundlessly, almost every night. I'm absolutely certain that he doesn't know he does it. I think... I think it's the only outlet he had. It doesn't hurt him, though. That's what I meant earlier – he's never going to be _normal, _but he's made it work for him. He hasn't let it defeat him. He's found a way for us both to be happy, despite everything."

The nurse shook her head slowly. "I always knew he wasn't telling me everything. What I did know was bad enough, but... it was a lot worse, wasn't it?" It wasn't really a question.

Hermione nodded. "He uses magic to hide most of the scars – from everyone except me, anyway, and the first time I saw them he expected me to turn tail and run. And there were other things that didn't leave scars, at least not physical ones."

Poppy's eyes were shadowed. "I know some of it; even he couldn't hide some of the effects. By then, I'd stopped asking for more details. I don't think I could have coped with the answers."

"He wouldn't have told you anyway."

"No, doubtless he wouldn't. And... I hate to ask this, Hermione, but... your relationship. Is everything... all right, between you?"

So far, nobody had thought to question this; nobody else had enough information to think of it. Poppy didn't mean it out of malice, Hermione told herself, trying not to grit her teeth; she was only asking out of genuine concern. That didn't mean that the question wasn't horrible, though. "Do you mean, is he unhinged after being raped and worse in the past and does he hurt me in bed?" she asked bluntly, glaring at the older woman.

Madam Pomfrey glared right back, with the expression of someone who had dealt with Severus Snape at his very worst and wasn't impressed with lesser attempts. "If that's the way you really want to phrase it, then yes, that is what I mean."

Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, Hermione dropped her eyes. "Sorry. I know you didn't mean it as a criticism. But no, Severus has never hurt me, or shown any sign of wanting to." Bruises, scratches and love bites didn't count, not when they were mutual; their sex was never truly rough in any way, and she tended to mark him more than the other way around – Poppy didn't need to know that, though. She was certain that if Severus did ever accidentally cause her real physical harm, the horror of it would probably break him. He didn't have it in him to hurt her, not unless the fate of the wizarding world depended on it, and even then she wasn't sure he could do that any more.

Remembering their talk before she had gone down on him that first time just a few days ago, she shrugged. "He told me once that he could keep the abuse separate in his head, that what happened to him wasn't his first sexual experience and wasn't really about sex, so he could distinguish it from everything else. I think that's why he's survived as well as he has; his mind is unbelievably strong and organised, and it helps him deal with all of it."

"I'm sorry for asking," the mediwitch said softly, "but I had to be sure. Sexual problems are often a symptom of something else, and with everything Severus went through, any other man would... Anyway, you may be right about his mind. I thought frequently during the war that his Occlumency did far more than allow him to lie to that maniac. Sometimes, during the very worst of it, when anyone else would have been reduced to a wounded animal... he would stop struggling and be still, and his eyes would go out of focus, and I always thought he had gone somewhere else in his mind, divorcing himself from the physical reality of what had happened to his body. He said once it was a meditation technique, but that was all."

"There's a lot more to Occlumency than the little I know," Hermione agreed. "We talked about it once. He can fight the Imperius curse, he's immune to truth potions and other compulsion magics, and he can at least partly resist Dementors. I don't think he could have survived without it."

"I'm astounded that he admitted any of this. If you had asked, I'd have staked my life on saying that Severus would never talk about anything remotely personal with anyone."

Hermione grinned. "It wasn't as easy as I'm making it sound. We've been talking for almost two years, and we've been together almost a year, and there's still an awful lot I don't know. Getting information out of him is impossible unless he's in the mood to share; it's strictly on his terms." The words _blood _and _stone _came to mind.

"And you don't mind that?"

"If I objected to who Severus is, I wouldn't be with him," she replied honestly. "I've always known he's intensely private and withdrawn. Besides, it's his life, not mine. I've finally realised that maybe I don't need to know everything about everything," she added, smiling.

Poppy chuckled softly. "I wonder what Severus would say if he heard that particular confession..."

She snorted quietly, grinning. "He still calls me an insufferable know-it-all."

"He would. I remember the first time I heard him say that about you..."

"When was that?" she asked interestedly; she wasn't aware that the two of them had ever discussed her. Realisation dawned, and she made a face. "The Polyjuice incident."

"I'm afraid so," the nurse agreed, smiling. "I've never heard Severus laugh so hard, I must admit. I could have smacked him for it."

"It wouldn't have made any difference if you had. He still teases me about it, even now. And I suppose, looking back, it _was _funny – to anyone who wasn't me, anyway. If nothing else, it did teach me to be more careful." Shaking her head, she smiled ruefully; that whole affair had been deeply embarrassing, and she hadn't been allowed to forget it in a hurry. The other girls never had found out why Moaning Myrtle kept meowing at her. "And really, it could have been much worse – after all, he knew I'd been brewing illegally, and he knew it had to have been me who stole ingredients from him to do it, and he never breathed a word to anyone."

"I think he was grateful for the amusement it gave him," the mediwitch remarked thoughtfully, "and the challenge of reversing it. It wasn't a good year for him, not once everything started going wrong."

"I suppose not. Losing out on the job he wanted yet again always annoyed him, but losing to _Lockhart_ must have really stung. I was always sorry I didn't get to see the two of them together more often," she said mischievously.

Poppy rolled her eyes. "It was... interesting, to say the least. Albus couldn't have done better had he set out to specifically conjure someone designed to irritate Severus. I'm amazed he didn't commit murder."

"Albus made him explicitly promise not to harm him in any way."

"He would have had to. In any case, the worst of it was once the monster was loose – nobody could accept that Severus had no more of an idea than the rest of us, not when his House were involved. And brewing the Mandrake draught is not easy; it was a very complex potion, and I'm not sure how he found the time to do it. Not that anyone thanked him for it."

Hermione grimaced. "I know I didn't. I forgot all about it until the summer holidays, and I felt really bad when I remembered. I wanted to write and thank him, but I didn't quite dare."

"He wouldn't have taken any notice anyway. Severus is his own worst enemy sometimes."

"Definitely," she agreed fervently, smiling again. "Well, it's been wonderful talking to you, Poppy. It's nice talking to someone who understands why we're together. Most of my really close friends know now, and by and large, they accept it, but they all do think I've lost my mind. You know enough of Severus to understand it."

"I'm happy for you both," the nurse said sincerely. "I always thought Severus deserved something better. Promise me three things, before you go?"

Hermione smiled. "I live with a Slytherin, Poppy. I'm not promising anything until I know what it is."

Chuckling, the older woman smiled back. "The first thing is that you won't hurt him."

"I promise never to hurt him deliberately, and to do my best to fix it if I hurt him accidentally; good enough?"

"From you, my dear, yes. The second thing is to warn me in advance before you tell the faculty about the two of you; I want a good seat, and I may need to be on hand anyway in case someone has a stroke."

"Ha, ha." Rolling her eyes, she smiled despite herself. "I've no plans for any sort of public announcement, but I'll bear it in mind. And the last thing?"

"You tell Severus to stop being so stubborn and come and talk to me."

She smothered a laugh. "Absolutely not! I don't plan to tell him anything about this conversation."

"Why not?"

"I told you that Severus likes cuddling. If he ever finds out I said that, there is nowhere in the world I could possibly hide that would be safe."

"That's a very good point. Maybe you should leave that part out," Poppy agreed solemnly, obviously trying not to smile. "Then again, he might guess something is wrong when I start laughing next time I see him. I just can't quite get my mind around the notion of Severus being the romantic sort."

"Oh, Merlin. I suppose I had better go and start apologising, then."

* * *

Standing in the bedroom doorway some time later, Hermione smiled at the sight in front of her. Severus had evidently got up briefly; he had shaved and his hair was damp from the shower. Now he was curled up comfortably, wearing just the faded tracksuit bottoms that he usually slept in – when he slept in anything at all – with a purring Crookshanks beside him. "Well, if it isn't my two favourite men," she greeted them cheerfully, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

Severus opened one eye and gave her a somewhat unimpressed look before closing it again. "Must you constantly be so cheerful?"

"Yes," she told him seriously. "If we were both as moody and grouchy as you are, the world couldn't possibly cope. Your potions have been safely delivered, by the way." He grunted in acknowledgement, apparently more interested in going back to sleep, and she smiled as she rubbed behind Crookshanks' ears. "And Poppy says to stop being so stubborn and go and talk to her."

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at her, his expression utterly unreadable. "Did you have a nice chat?" he asked finally. There was no edge to his voice, but Hermione knew this could all go horribly wrong any moment. He had never liked being gossiped about, after all, and even now he would believe a nasty motive far more readily than a benign one, even from her.

"Yes, actually," she replied mildly. "She worked out why you appeared to be happy; she was very pleased."

His expression didn't alter in the slightest. After a moment he closed his eyes again, and after a further short pause he observed coolly, "You know, Hermione, you are an extremely aggravating, interfering, and meddlesome witch."

Relaxing – she knew him well enough by this point to read most of his moods quite accurately, despite his best efforts – she grinned. "As it happens, yes, I do know that," she replied brightly. "Was there a particular point you wished to make, or are you just being generally grumpy?"

"Come here so I can silence you, maddening woman," he ordered without lifting his head or even opening his eyes again.

Trying valiantly not to laugh, she shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "No. You need more sleep; I don't want the murder of any students from your classes tomorrow on my conscience." Deliberately she turned and walked away.

Severus caught up with her in the living room, evidently neither as tired nor as annoyed as he had seemed, and unceremoniously pushed her against the wall and proceeded to kiss her senseless, ignoring her attempts to speak. Only when he was apparently satisfied that she couldn't breathe enough to argue with him did he draw away, looking down at her with his eyes glittering.

"If I was capable of facing Potter at the end of a long day, following a night at my master's tender mercy, without committing murder, I can surely achieve the same when I have merely missed sleep at the mercy of someone whose company is rather more pleasant," he informed her silkily.

She had the perfect retort ready – namely, that even Harry had been a better alternative than Voldemort's company, and she would hope that any students tomorrow would be a worse option than staying with her – but he gave her no chance to say anything. As soon as she had opened her mouth, his lips were on hers once more, his tongue taking full advantage of the opportunity. One day, she reflected, she was really going to need to stop him doing this; as the fierce and devouring kiss deepened, she decided yet again that it didn't necessarily need to be today, and wrapped a leg around his thigh to pull him closer against her.

Her one half-hearted attempt to break away resulted in him all but tackling her to the floor, and they ended up rolling on the rug in a tangle of hastily-discarded clothing before the pace slowed a little and his urgent kisses became gentler. Really, Hermione considered, Poppy hadn't had any reason to be worried; she had seen Severus' violent side many times before, and it was a very long way from this part of their lives. There was no link between those two facets of his nature, and of the two of them, she was the one most likely to get carried away. Certainly Severus had never done anything to her that drew blood; she couldn't really say the same, since she tended to leave scratches sometimes. And he certainly hadn't done anything she didn't want him to do.

As he teased her almost to the brink of begging, she stopped even trying to think and let the world dissolve. Here in their own private world, nothing else really mattered, and when Severus touched her like this he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world – even when he was teasing her unmercifully, she reflected as her back arched and she moaned into his mouth. Then he was inside her at last, thrusting deeply into her, and there was nothing left but the sensations he woke in her.

She never wanted this to end. "Severus?" she half-whispered, shuddering beneath him as he moved and looking up into his eyes.

Apparently it took him a moment to realise that this was a question, rather than just her saying his name – he had long since become accustomed to the fact that she was much more vocal than he was – but he did eventually respond, albeit a little indistinctly. "Yes?"

"Can you... stop a minute?"

He froze instantly and awkwardly, staring down at her as the expression began to fade from his eyes. Realising what he was thinking, she shook her head and smiled at him, reaching up to touch his face. "There's nothing wrong. I just... want to feel this, for a minute."

Relaxing slowly, he nodded and shifted, pushing fully into her and settling into stillness, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations. There was the feeling of the rug under her back, the thick wool pile keeping the chill of the stone floor away from her skin but doing little to conceal the lack of softness, and the whisper of cool air against her skin; all other feelings came from the man currently on top of her.

Most obvious was the feel of him buried inside her, the thick length of solid heat pressed so intimately against what felt like every nerve ending she possessed; if she concentrated, she could feel the throb of him as he pulsed within her. Then the feel of his hips settled against hers where he lay between her spread thighs – he had gained muscle, as she had told him, but if he moved a little too vigorously his hip bones could still bruise; and the hard planes of his stomach against her own softer curves, the heat of his body easily banishing the chill of the dungeon. His weight was resting mostly on his elbows, holding his body above her enough that she wasn't crushed against him; she could still feel his chest, the warm muscles rising and falling as he breathed and his chest hair causing a scratchy friction against her breasts, and the spot of cold where his necklace rested against her sternum.

Hermione could hear him breathing, the rhythm deep and not quite even, and occasionally felt him shivering slightly. She could smell him, copper and smoke and herbs and rain, and a hint of shower gel, and sheer maleness. Her hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of muscle and bone and scar tissue throughout his lean and sinewy frame. Finally, slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him; his hair fell around his face, almost but not quite touching her. This close, she could see his pupils dilated with arousal, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed a little more heavily than normal, but there was no sign of strain in his face and his expression was almost peaceful, as though he could stay like this for hours, despite the fact that she could feel the muscles of his bad leg starting to twitch. She suspected that he too had been cataloguing sensations.

His eyes were drowning deep, and she found it difficult to believe that she had once thought those black eyes were hard to read. When he wished to, it was true that he could hold that expressionless mask, but now she could read every tiny nuance and flicker in their depths; warmth and desire and affection and pleasure, touched with that dark knowledge of her body that was so very male, that went beyond simple lust. Maybe he wasn't capable of love, but looking into his eyes above her now, she found that very hard to believe, especially when that slow almost-smile that was unique to him warmed his gaze as he stared down at her.

Reaching up, she gently wound her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands, and he lowered his head very slowly to kiss her, giving her time to memorise the further sensations; the feather-light brush of hair against her cheek, the whisper of his breath followed by the soft pressure of his lips. His mouth opened and his tongue traced her lower lip before slipping inside; and then there was the moist warmth of his mouth as the kiss grew deeper, the unique taste of him touched with something sweet that he had drunk earlier. She kissed him back, finding the familiar places in his mouth; the gap of his missing tooth, the slight ridge of a fine scar across the roof of his mouth, the play of his tongue against hers.

Drawing back enough to speak, her lips moved against his as she whispered, "Now, please." Another shiver ran through his body and he began to move again with a low groan deep in his throat, his body settling into the familiar rolling rhythm that coaxed her into flame; the warm weight low in her abdomen became wave after wave of blissful pleasure, and she distantly heard her voice calling his name. He cried out softly in answer as her body tightened around him, and she felt his shuddering climax inside her.

* * *

_Hermione_

_I am so, so sorry. Really. I never would've done it if I'd known you'd be ill, you know that, right? It was just supposed to be a joke, and I swear the stuff's always been perfectly safe. I really am sorry. I'm a prat. Are you okay?_

_George_

* * *

_George_

_Yes, you are a prat! But I'm used to that. I'm okay now. It was a bit of a rough night – as I'm sure you gathered from the various Howlers and other messages and thinly veiled threats that came your way courtesy of the Slytherin currently glowering over my shoulder while I'm writing this. Go away, Severus. You can kill him next time._

_Anyway, I know you didn't mean to make me sick, and I believe you that it's safe. I was just unlucky, I suppose. And really, I should have known better than to drink anything you made, so it's partly my fault. That doesn't let you off the hook, mind – don't ever do anything like that to me again, or I really will let Severus come after you._

_Hermione_

* * *

_Sorry, little sister! Your bloke is incredibly scary, you know that? I'd forgotten how bloody terrifying he can be. I'm just glad nobody else was there to hear it._

_Did it work, by the way? Before you started puking, I mean?_

_G

* * *

_

_Bugger off, George. You haven't seen him being truly scary yet. He was ready to kill you long before I started puking – so yes, it worked. You're a git. If he hadn't realised it was something to do with you he'd have ended up losing his temper with me and we'd have had a flaming row; was that what you wanted to achieve?

* * *

_

_...When you put it like that, it does sound a bit stupid. I guess I didn't think. That should probably be our family's motto, shouldn't it? I really am sorry, you know._

_G

* * *

_

_George_

_Yes, I know. I may even forgive you, this time. Just remember what I said – if this happens again, you're going to see firsthand just how frightening Severus can be._

_Hermione

* * *

Message received and understood, little sister. By the way, I've sent the news out to the clan; awaiting responses now._

_G

* * *

G_

_Should I be worried?_

_H

* * *

H_

_Just heard back from Percy Prat – he's horrified. Not because it's Snape – I'm not sure he's even registered that part yet – but because of the potential scandal. He wants you to consider your reputation._

_Set Snape on him._

_G

* * *

G_

_He wouldn't waste his time on Percy. Good grief._

_You might remind your brother that my reputation has been trash since I was fifteen and supposedly cheating on Harry with Viktor Krum, and over the years I've apparently jumped almost every male wizard in existence, including all the Weasley brothers and therefore including Perfect Percy himself, horrible as the thought is. You might also remind him that his own reputation isn't exactly spotless among our crowd either._

_Or you might just tell him to shove a cauldron up his arse, preferably sideways. Either way._

_H

* * *

H_

_I thought of something better; I threatened to tell Mum that he'd upset you. But I'll pass your message along._

_G

* * *

George, you have an evil turn of mind sometimes. Well done you. Anyone else responded yet, or have they passed out from shock?_

_H

* * *

Evil? Me? Now, little sister, that hurts._

_Charlie's just replied; but you know what he's like – if it doesn't have scales and fiery breath, he's not interested. I don't think he cares either way to be honest._

_G

* * *

Well, that's fair enough. I was never as close to him as I was to the rest of you; I've hardly seen him in years, really. He's not appalled, that's good enough. What about Bill?_

_H

* * *

H_

_Give me a chance! Bill's only just sent his reply. I was telling him about the scar stuff as well – it's not all about you, you know!_

_G

* * *

G_

_Tell him if he has any questions about the ointment he's better off writing to Severus directly; or if the idea is too frightening, he can write to me._

_H

* * *

H_

_He's sent you an owl already, it should be there soon. I'd better let you get back to work, or Snape-control, or whatever it is you're doing._

_G

* * *

George, I assure you, I definitely don't control Severus! Anyway, I'll hopefully see you soon. And this time I won't be eating or drinking anything. Thanks for letting your brothers know, that's saved me a job – although I dread to think what you've said to them._

_Hermione

* * *

Hermione_

_Well, that was a bit unexpected! George's letter made me cough tea all over the table. Fleur wasn't impressed. You dark horse, you, keeping that a secret for so long – although I absolutely understand why. Snape, eh? Interesting choice, I admit. I can't quite see it myself. Hang on – Fleur's interrupting me._

_Hm. Okay. Apparently I'm an idiot for not understanding why Snape – seems he made something of an impression. I'm informed that the dark and brooding thing is considered attractive and that Snape's voice is 'simply unbelievable and wasted on an Englishman,' which apparently makes up for the fact that he's – well, you know, Snape._

_I hope he's not reading this over your shoulder._

_Anyway, ignoring my apparent shortcomings, I'd be overjoyed to try anything that might help my scars. I don't care about how they look, you know that, but some of the bigger ones – especially the one closest to my mouth – are making it difficult for people to read my expression now. If I could get some mobility back, that would be great. When will it be ready, and is there anything specific I have to do? I'm assuming this is more of a clinical trial than a present._

_Bill

* * *

Bill_

_Fleur's not wrong! No, Severus wasn't reading over my shoulder, which is just as well. It's not just the voice or the looks, though – you know I'm not that shallow! I'm not really sure how to explain it. It kind of sneaked up on me after we became friends. He's intelligent, he's got a wicked sense of humour, he can read my moods so well that it's scary... he makes me happy._

_(Tell Fleur, Severus can speak fluent French with a perfect accent.)_

_I'll let him explain the ointment; it's his project, not mine._

_I'm glad you've all taken this so well._

_Hermione

* * *

Hermione_

_The intelligence makes more sense. I can certainly buy that you'd fall in love with a man's brain! Snape's certainly smart, I'll give you that, and apparently according to George he looks human now, so that's fair enough too. If he makes you happy, that's all you had to say._

_I told Fleur. She stared at the wall dreamily for a while, then wandered off singing some kind of French love song that seems to involve a lot of sighing. I guess it's a female thing – I can't say Snape's voice has ever done it for me!_

_Bill

* * *

Mr Weasley_

_You are correct that this is something in the nature of a clinical trial; however, formalities and protocols will not be necessary. All that is required is that you apply the ointment to the worst of your scars once a day until it is gone, and make notes of any changes that occur – positive or negative – as well as comparing the treated scars to the untreated ones. Should the phase of the moon seem to alter the effectiveness, please make a note of it; your scars are almost unique and I cannot plan for all scenarios._

_I have enclosed a list of the primary ingredients; if you are allergic to any of them, please inform me. If at any time you experience an alarming reaction to the ointment, such as pain, irritation, redness or swelling, cease using it at once and inform me._

_If you are agreeable, I shall send you a sample of the ointment next week. I must warn you that it may have no effect and there is a small chance that it may make matters worse; I cannot guarantee anything._

_Severus Snape_

_PS: Hermione wishes me to inform you that 'yes, it's a female thing'. I am certain I do not wish to know what she is talking about._

_SS

* * *

Professor Snape_

_Thank you for giving me the chance to try it. I know it's in its experimental phase and I know it's hard to make anything for my particular case; any improvement at all would be wonderful. I'll give you as much information as I can. And at the risk of sounding impertinent, sir, thank you for making Hermione happy, too._

_Bill Weasley_

_PS: No, you don't want to know._

* * *

_Guess what, guys? MORE fan art! This one from Kumo: _tinyurl dot com / 5trv5p2


	30. Chapter 30

_This chapter is less happy. I promise this is almost the last time Minerva plays the bitch; she more or less shocks herself out of it this time.__  
_

* * *

**"****Take it back, I dare you, take it back.  
****No, you can't? You should have thought of that**.**"**  
– Garbage, 'As Heaven Is Wide'.

* * *

Really, Hermione reflected gloomily as she studied the Marauder's Map, she should have known better. Everything had been going so perfectly, and she had foolishly allowed herself to believe that it would last – people were finding out about herself and Severus and being astonishingly supportive, the workload was at last easing for them both as the end of the year drew closer, even the weather was wonderful.

And then there had been a staff meeting...

* * *

Minerva looked around the room. "I received an owl from the Ministry this morning; the memorial service is going to have to be brought forward to the end of May, as they are busy in June."

Severus, who as usual had been pretending not to listen, looked up with a frown. "What?"

Hermione filled in, remembering that he couldn't have known about it last year. "Every year there's a memorial service at the Ministry, to commemorate the war."

He shook his head impatiently. "I know that. But what does it have to do with the Ministry?"

"The Minister oversees the ceremony."

His expression darkened. "Why?"

By now all the teachers were looking at him, puzzled and wary – as they usually were when Severus decided to involve himself in a discussion. Things tended to become quite volatile whenever he did so.

"Why shouldn't he?" Flitwick asked tentatively.

Severus scowled, his eyes hardening. "Because the Ministry as a whole had absolutely nothing to do with the war; they refused to get involved even when Fudge was finally convinced that actually we _weren't _all a group of unstable psychotics trying to get him fired. Scrimgeour was no better. All the Ministry did was make matters worse; why should there be a Ministry presence now?"

There was a pause while everyone looked at one another. Not everyone in this room had been in the Order, but they had all been in the war. Personally, Hermione thought Severus had actually just made a very good point.

"Our Orders of Merlin were from the Ministry," Neville ventured after a few moments, and had to visibly stop himself from cringing in the face of Severus' glare. The two of them got along better these days, in the sense that they managed to ignore one another, but old habits died hard and there was no love lost between them.

"And why were they handing out rewards?" the Potions master asked, sounding genuinely angry now. "What right do they have to issue pats on the head? They essentially congratulated you for winning a war they denied was even happening, for doing what was necessary while they sat around wringing their hands and simpering and trying to arrest you."

"Yes, and you didn't get one," Minerva said snidely.

He glared at her, the anger in his eyes increasing. "I didn't expect one, or want one," he growled. "I don't understand why the rest of you accepted it, as if the Ministry had anything to do with what happened. It is not titles that honour men, but men that honour titles."

"Well, what should have happened?" Hermione asked carefully, trying to calm the situation down. She didn't think his quoting Machiavelli was terribly helpful at this point, justified though the comment might be.

"The Order of the Phoenix has nothing to do with the Ministry of Magic and should have remained independent. If you all felt the need to give one another prizes, fine, but it had nothing to do with the government."

Again, that was a valid point, but it was rather spoiled when Minerva observed acidly, "The Order of the Phoenix would have found it easier to organise such a thing had _someone _not murdered the head of the Order."

Severus became very still. Hermione had seen this before; the tension in his body was unmistakeable, and even before a nerve jumped under his eye she knew he was moments away from truly losing his temper. "That isn't fair, Minerva," she said, surprised at how cold her voice sounded. "It wasn't murder, it was a year before the end of the war and it wasn't Severus' fault if there was no coherent leadership after that point, and it has nothing to do with the point he was making. It really doesn't have anything to do with the Ministry."

"For the love of Merlin, girl, will you stop constantly defending him?" the Headmistress snapped. "He's not a poor misunderstood house-elf, he's a Death Eater, and whether or not the Ministry has any say in commemorating the war, _he _certainly has no right to comment! Who made the war worse, the Ministry? Or Snape? I know who caused more deaths!"

Hermione was shaking, so angry she couldn't speak. It was actually Neville who said quietly, "That's not fair." Minerva stared at him and he paled, but squared his shoulders and lifted his head. "Professor Snape was on our side, and we needed him. Maybe if one of us could have done what he did, we wouldn't have needed him, but nobody else could. Dumbledore himself has explained that Professor Snape was obeying him, and if he hadn't done it, what would have happened? I reckon we'd have lost. So does Harry, and he'd know."

"I can't believe you're defending him! How many times did he put you in the infirmary?"

"I can't remember," Neville replied calmly. "But if Voldemort had put anyone else in charge, I'd have been killed early on, probably very unpleasantly. Most of us would, come to that."

"He was one of those who attacked your parents, you foolish boy!"

"No, he wasn't," Hermione managed to say, as Neville went white but for spots of red in his cheeks. "That was Barty Crouch Junior and the Lestranges. I don't think Severus was even there, and there was nothing he could have done if he was."

"Don't throw that in my face again, Minerva," Neville said slowly before anyone else could speak. He looked truly angry, which wasn't something anyone saw from the mild-natured Herbology professor very often. "Even Snape back in his days of being a bastard never used that to hurt me. Even he would never sink that low."

The Headmistress swallowed. "I'm sorry, Neville. That was inexcusable. I just cannot understand why you would defend a man like Snape."

"Maybe because it's the right thing to do? That's what Gryffindor is supposed to stand for, isn't it?" Neville shook his head and looked at Hermione. "Does anyone ever listen when you explain this, 'Mione?"

"Not so far," she said grimly, "but that's no reason to stop. Severus isn't the villain here."

"Possibly because Severus is, in fact, no longer here at all," the drawling voice of Phineas Nigellus remarked from one of the paintings on the staff room wall. "He left some time ago. If anyone is interested."

Dismayed, Hermione looked around and found that the door was open and Severus was quite clearly not there. _Oh, fuck. _She just hoped he had stayed long enough to hear that not everyone was attacking him, but somehow she doubted it.

"Well, Albus?" Phineas continued accusingly. "What price your Gryffindor justice now?"

Albus Dumbledore's portrait just shook his head sadly. "Minerva, I do wish you would stop this. I have told you the full story..."

"About a year and a half too late," Hermione interjected angrily. "It might have been nice if you'd told someone _before_ you had Severus brand himself a murderer and a traitor and become the second most hated wizard in the world, don't you think? Maybe if you had, he wouldn't have had to run and spend the next ten years hiding and suffering."

The former Headmaster sighed and nodded. "You're right, my dear, I admit it. I have admitted it to Severus as well, and apologised, for all the good it will do him now. I made a great many mistakes where he was concerned, and still he continued to do more than even I could have asked of him. His point about the Ministry is a good one; and despite that jibe, Minerva, Severus has never been particularly interested in material reward. Given the treatment he received at the Ministry after the first war, and given their conduct in the second, I do not believe he would have accepted an Order of Merlin had it been offered. I shall have to think about this."

"And I'd better go and find Severus," Hermione said quietly, standing up. "I doubt there's going to be anything said here that's worth listening to, and he's not likely to talk to anyone else right now."

"I'll walk with you a little way," Neville said hastily, both Gryffindors apparently not wanting to give their employer a chance to say anything else, and they left to the sound of Phineas beginning what sounded like quite a passionate attack on hypocrisy.

"Where are we going, 'Mione?" Neville asked once they were outside.

"I have no idea. I doubt Severus is even still on the grounds now. But if I'd stayed in there any longer I would have started cursing people. It's just so _unfair, _and I don't care how childish that sounds!"

Neville nodded agreement. "I'm with you. I never knew Minerva could be such a... bitch. She was just digging at him out of spite. And Snape made a really good point, we all _should _have told the Ministry to sod off and shove their medals where the sun doesn't shine."

"We had more important things to think about back then," she replied absently. "I'm not even sure where my stupid Order of Merlin is. In the bottom of a box somewhere, I suppose."

"Same with mine," he agreed. "Remember the award ceremony?"

"Vaguely, but it's all a bit of a blur now. We were all shell-shocked, most of us were wounded, and I personally just wanted to crawl away and cry somewhere before wading back into the clean-up. We must have looked like zombies." She sighed. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I didn't expect her to say it, but... yeah, I'm okay. I'm hurt that she'd do that, but the subject didn't hurt, not much. Anyway, you should be worrying about your wizard, not me. He looked... I dunno. Bad."

She nodded miserably. "It hurts him more than he'll ever admit. This is going to mess him up for days. And everything was going so well, with the Weasleys and everything."

Neville paused and frowned. "While we're in a 'sod the Ministry' mood, how do you feel about 'sod everyone'?"

"How do you mean?"

"Get Snape to go to the memorial service. He's got as much right to be there as the rest of us – more so, really. Did you mention it last year?"

"No. He wouldn't have gone. He won't go this time either, especially not now."

"I think he should, you know. He's one of us, even if nobody else will admit it."

Hermione blinked at her friend, then abruptly hugged him fiercely, her eyes stinging. "You have no idea what that means to me, Neville. Thank you." Sniffing inelegantly, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "He should go, you're right, but I don't think he will. And right now I don't intend trying to persuade him; he's going to be so upset and angry about what's just happened."

"Will you be okay?"

"What? Oh, yes. He doesn't take it out on me very often, _never _physically, only verbally, and he always stops when he realises what he's doing. I just hate seeing him so hurt."

He nodded slowly. "Even I could see it. I've never seen him like that. He seems to be more... I dunno, really, but he's easier to read now. I guess that's because of you?"

"He wouldn't see it as a good thing," she replied morosely, but it was true that Severus made less of an effort to hide his feelings these days – at least with her, and presumably that was spilling over into the rest of his life. Little by little, she seemed to have prised open a few cracks in his walls.

"Well," Neville said more lightly, "what shall we do to Minerva in revenge? Obviously we can't let her get away with upsetting her three most brilliant staff members."

She smiled despite herself. "One little pep talk and you get all bold on me. I've created a monster."

He grinned back at her. "Nah, this is what I'm always like when Snape's not here to glare at me. I freely admit he's on our side and we owe him everything, and I freely admit he seems to have made you happy for reasons I really don't understand, but he's still bloody terrifying."

She smiled a little more. "I know." The smile faded. "Anyway, revenge is going to have to wait. Right now, I want to find Severus; I'm worried about him."

"He's probably loads better at revenge than we are," Neville conceded cheerfully. "I'm off into Hogsmeade for a drink, anyway. If I see Snape, I'll let you know." He touched her arm, looking more serious. "I'm sorry. I hope it works out."

Hermione hugged him again. "Thanks for trying, Neville. It means a lot to me, especially from you – I know you don't like him."

"Doesn't matter if I like him or not, he doesn't deserve that. And I'm pretty pissed at Minerva right now. I'll see you later."

* * *

Now, Hermione stared miserably at the Map once more, looking in vain for the small dot labelled _Severus Snape. _She had no idea where he was; he'd been gone for hours now. She'd sent her Patronus four times, asking him just to let her know that he was all right, and had no response, and she was seriously worried.

Finally she was woken from an uneasy doze by Crookshanks; the half-Kneazle meowed again and butted her face impatiently, and pawed at the Map when she lifted her head. Squinting, she saw the familiar name and almost sobbed aloud in relief. "Thank God, Crooks," she whispered, picking her familiar up and burying her face in his fur. "I really thought something had happened to him." She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was gone two in the morning. He had been gone most of the day and night. Hugging her cat, who for once made no attempt to get away, she wiped the Map and watched the door.

When Severus walked in, she felt her heart clench painfully on seeing him. He seemed smaller, somehow, and older; his posture was defeated, his shoulders hunched. He glanced at her for a second, long enough for her to see that his eyes were bloodshot and his face was haggard, then looked away and started to walk past her.

"Where were you?" she asked softly, hating how small her voice sounded as she hugged Crookshanks more tightly. "I was worried about you."

"More fool you," he replied roughly, heading across the room to the door that led further into his quarters.

"Why didn't you let me know you were all right?"

He stopped moving, but didn't turn around. After a long moment, he replied a little unexpectedly, "I tried."

"I don't understand..."

"I couldn't summon my Patronus. I couldn't focus on a happy memory." He barked a laugh, the harsh, bitter sound she remembered rather than the genuine warm laughter that she had come to value so much. "I can't imagine why."

Crookshanks made an unhappy sound from her arms, watching Severus worriedly. Hermione watched his back and wondered what to say. "Severus..."

He shook his head, not looking at her. "Leave me alone, Hermione," he said tiredly. "I'm not good company and I'm not worth your time. Just leave me the fuck alone." Opening the door, he left, and she heard his footsteps on the stair leading down to the lab.

"Oh, Crookshanks," she whispered to the cat sadly, "how am I going to fix this?"

* * *

At a quarter to five in the morning, he left the lab. She had no idea what he had been doing down there, but she doubted it had involved brewing, not in the state he was in; if she had to guess, she'd go with sitting staring at the wall – and possibly drinking, although she didn't think so, not this time. Sitting on the sofa in the dark, with Crookshanks on her lap, Hermione listened to him climb the stairs and move into the bathroom; when she heard the shower come on, she made her decision and gently lifted the cat down. He purred encouragingly at her and disappeared into the shadows; taking a breath, she quietly approached the bathroom.

It wasn't locked, which gave her some confidence that she was doing the right thing. Clearly part of him was hoping that she would come after him, or he would have warded the door so tightly that nothing mortal could get through. Or, more likely, he was hurting so badly that he no longer cared. Gently opening the door, she slipped inside and closed it behind her, peering through the steamy air. Severus was a dark shadow in the shower stall; by the amount of steam, he'd pushed the water as hot as it would go, hot enough to really hurt. Silently she began to disrobe.

When she had stripped, she walked soundlessly across the tiled floor and opened the door to the shower. He was ignoring her completely, mechanically soaping his hair with his back to her. Wincing at the near-scalding heat of the water, Hermione slid her arms around his waist and stepped close, resting her cheek against his back without saying anything. He continued to ignore her, but after a few minutes he turned the temperature down enough that it was tolerable, if barely; he had stopped even pretending to shower now and was just standing there. He didn't relax into her touch, nor did he attempt to resist it; it was as though she wasn't there at all.

When he eventually did speak, it startled her. "Don't waste your time." His voice was rough, hoarse, and profoundly tired.

She didn't bother to ask what he meant. "I don't consider it a waste."

"I'm beyond saving. Go back to your precious house elves."

"Most of them don't need saving, and nor do you. There's nothing _wrong _with you, Severus."

"Hah. That's your opinion."

"And doesn't my opinion carry any weight with you?" she asked carefully.

He was silent for a moment. "You know it does. But you're wrong about this. I'm not worth it."

"That's not for you to decide." Closing her eyes, she leaned against his back, feeling the warm slickness of his scarred skin and the rise and fall of his breathing.

"You are not in a position to make an informed decision." He drew a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was dead once more, utterly devoid of emotion. "Everyone throws Dumbledore's death in my face, but that is the very least of my crimes. I've killed people you knew personally, people you went to school with. Your Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage, died screaming in front of me, begging me to save her. Had your parents been caught, I would have been ordered to assist in torturing them, and I would have done so without hesitation. I've tortured some of your closest friends almost to the brink of death. And there have been countless others, nameless victims. The youngest child I ever killed was perhaps two or three years old. Most of their deaths were very slow – after all, the cutting curse was my speciality, and I have a certain amount of skill in wielding the Cruciatus as well.

"Had Bellatrix delivered you to the Dark Lord when she captured you, as she was supposed to, he would have broken into your mind and taken what information he wished; he would then have ordered you raped, repeatedly and publicly, and then you would have been given over to me. I would have been ordered to torture you, to keep you alive as long as possible before killing you, to be certain that you were not holding anything back – such tasks were frequently mine; many of the others lacked my... control. And I would have done it. You would not have been the first former student of mine in that position. I would have ensured that your death took days, as theirs did. You would have broken. We all break, in the end."

Hermione was a little surprised to find that she wasn't crying. In fact, she felt almost unnaturally calm as she said quietly, "Severus, _shut up_. I am _not_ an idiot. I know what your role amongst the Death Eaters was. I even know that it wasn't just the Dark Lord who required such things of you – you were the Order's equivalent of an Unspeakable, because you did the dirty jobs we couldn't even bring ourselves to speak of. We demanded information from you and never quite dared ask where you obtained it, or how. Whenever I heard of another murder at the hands of the Death Eaters, I wondered if you had been involved. I've spoken to Neville, Ginny and Luna, and seen their memories; I know what you did to them.

"But I've held you while you cried in my arms, and I've listened to you apologising and begging for forgiveness in your nightmares. I've seen what it's done to you. I've seen the memory of you telling Dumbledore that the people you watched die were the ones you couldn't save. I know that when you came to Order meetings with blood soaking your clothes, it was far more likely to be your own blood than someone else's. It was brutal and it was ugly, and it was the dark side of war. I never thought it was all battles and glory. You paid every price that was demanded of you, no matter the cost, and you won the war for us, prophecy be damned. Nobody else was strong enough to do what you did; it wasn't right, but it was necessary.

"And I am not the only one who thinks so. You're not alone, Severus. Neville stood up and defended you in there; Neville, who was terrified of you for years, who's still a little scared of you, who – as you so considerately pointed out – you tortured. Even he acknowledges what you did for us. Minerva cannot let go of her bitterness, but she's just one person. Everyone who knows about us has been supportive. I'm not naïve and I know that won't always be the case, but you're not as universally hated as you believe.

"In any case, I know for a fact that you don't care what the world as a whole thinks of you. That doesn't stop it hurting and it certainly doesn't make it right, but it is their problem, and not ours. I don't consider you a waste of time and I know enough of what you've done that there is nothing you could possibly admit to that would make me turn from you, so _stop_ trying to push me away. I'm not going anywhere."

That had been a far longer and more melodramatic speech than she had planned to say, Hermione reflected in the silence that followed, but it had needed to be said. The big question was whether or not Severus would actually listen, and if he did listen, would he believe her? Had this been any other man, she would have told him in that moment that she loved him, but this wasn't just any man – this was her Severus, her broken, scarred, bitter Severus, and although she truly did love him, she didn't really want to say so under these circumstances. He would always wonder if she had said it just because she thought she should.

"I could make you go," Severus said finally, quietly. "If I believed it was the right thing to do, if I believed you were better off without me." His tone made it clear that he did believe it, and his words hit a little too close to home for comfort.

Her temper snapped. "Go ahead, then!" she spat, drawing away from him abruptly. Giving him no chance to respond, she kicked the back of his bad knee, and seized his arm as he staggered, wrenching him around and shoving him back hard against the tiled wall. If she gave him even a second to react, he'd kill her reflexively before he even registered what had happened; she had only one chance, and she took it. Meeting his eyes, she snapped, "_Legilimens!_"

* * *

Hermione knew that the only reason she was still alive was because she had caught him totally by surprise. He trusted her, completely, and it meant that she was the only person in the world he didn't constantly guard himself against; he hadn't expected her to betray that trust and attack him. As the mental connection formed, she tried not to feel afraid; this was surely suicide.

She felt a moment of pure panic from him as his mind automatically reacted, falling into a very old pattern of thought; she felt him allow the intrusion, giving ground before her as walls slammed up somewhere deep inside. He was conditioned to do so, because the only one who had routinely invaded his mind was Voldemort. The sheer depth of his terror was horrifying; how had he returned so often to his master when he feared him so much?

A moment later more walls slammed into place, far stronger and more obvious, and the fear gave way to pure rage. If he had had his wand in his hand in that moment, she knew he would have killed her. Of every possible spell she could have used against him, this invasion of his mind had been the worst she could have chosen, and the emotion coming from him now went well beyond fury and into psychopathic frenzy.

But she knew Severus better than anyone else ever had, and she was gambling on that knowledge now. His mind and emotions were disciplined, and he very seldom acted without thinking. He had been a spy for almost two decades, all told, and he was an expert at reading a situation and noticing everything, at looking beyond the obvious and finding what was hidden. She felt that terrible, frightening rage slowly die away into stillness and knew that she had been right; he had realised that actually, she _hadn't_ invaded his mind. She hadn't done anything but establish the connection, and now she stood passively, her mind completely open to his, and waited.

She had offered once to allow him into her mind to see the truth of whether or not she was trying to hide their relationship out of shame, and he had refused. He had said he saw it as a form of violation, and while she wasn't an expert at mental magic she had experienced enough of it to believe that he had the right of it. But this was at her instigation, her invitation. She had opened the door; he merely had to look through it.

After what seemed quite a long time, she felt a very cautious brush against her mind as he mentally took a step closer; she could almost feel his trembling uncertainty as his morals and his fear warred with his desperate need to know. Hermione concentrated on the memory of the staff meeting and her talk with Neville afterwards, attempting to push the memory out towards him; she wasn't very good at this, but he was, and she felt him watching. Had this been a Pensieve, she would have followed it with carefully-edited versions of her talks with George and Poppy, but he would see through any attempt at censorship and that wasn't the point of this. She simply stood quietly, concentrating on not resisting, and allowed him to see whatever he wished.

He hesitated, realising just how open she had left herself, and she caught a flicker of emotion that passed too rapidly to be identified before he very tentatively brushed her mind once more, very lightly and swiftly, skimming the surface of her most immediate thoughts and collecting a general impression without looking at anything specific. He didn't venture any deeper or look any harder, withdrawing surprisingly gently before abruptly severing the link and slamming the door closed.

Blinking rapidly, Hermione focused on the real world once more and found Severus staring at her with a troubled expression, both of them ignoring the water still streaming down over them. His eyes held unshed tears, but he wasn't crying; he looked more in shock than anything else, although the expression was rapidly fading.

"Are you all right?" she asked him softly.

"That was unbelievably dangerous," he replied hoarsely. "I nearly killed you."

"I know," she answered. "I knew what I was doing and how you would react. But I know you, too. I knew you'd hesitate, and I was pretty sure you'd hesitate long enough to realise what I had done."

He gave her a surprisingly level look and lifted his hand, pointing over her shoulder. Turning, she gasped; the screen of the shower stall had shattered, and the tiled wall beyond had been smashed, and there were scorch marks on the floor. "I nearly killed you," he repeated, his voice lacking any inflection. "Don't ever do that again, Hermione."

"You weren't listening to me, Severus. I didn't know any other way to reach you."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter; don't _ever_ do that again, not for any reason. Next time I may not be able to stop myself in time. Do you have any idea what it would do to me to realise that I had seriously hurt you, or even killed you?"

Swallowing as she looked again at the destruction, she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the heat of the shower and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus. I just couldn't bear seeing you like that."

Abruptly he seized her in a rough embrace, hugging her fiercely enough to knock the air from her lungs. "Idiot woman," he whispered hoarsely. "You'd risk either a physical or mental attack just to try and cheer me up? You weren't shielding yourself at all. I could have erased your mind or burned the flesh from your bones."

Managing to draw a breath, she hugged him back every bit as fiercely. "Severus, I'd risk almost anything to see you smile." His arms loosened long enough for him to pick her up before he hugged her again, burying his face in her neck as he started shaking; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, clinging to him as hard as she could and trying not to cry.

* * *

"Merlin, Hermione, you look ghastly," Neville murmured at breakfast. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No," she replied a little hoarsely, giving him a rueful smile.

"Why? Was it that bad?"

"He didn't come back until after two in the morning, and it was gone five before I could speak to him. By the time we'd managed to sort things out, it was almost breakfast time anyway."

"Ouch. But you did get it sorted?"

She found herself smiling. "Yes." Neville raised his eyebrows, and she shook her head, grinning at him. "Down, boy; not like that. That doesn't really work on Severus – well, no, it does, but he'd probably be even worse afterwards. We didn't have time, anyway."

Neville gave her a grateful look for not elaborating and returned his attention to his eggs. "So where is he now?"

"Fixing the bathroom wall. Don't ask," she added when he looked at her blankly. She nodded towards the centre of the High Table. "Has there been anything from her, this morning?"

"No idea," Neville replied briskly, "since I didn't give her a chance to say anything. Just because it didn't hurt as much now as it would have done a few years back doesn't mean I'm going to forgive her in a hurry."

Hermione nodded agreement and returned to her toast. A few minutes later Neville elbowed her and she looked up to see none other than Severus himself entering the Great Hall and walking between the long house tables towards them; apparently he had decided to prove that Minerva hadn't cowed him. Watching him, she realised that something had changed; he was moving more confidently, more comfortable in his own skin, the aura of his power and certainty almost tangible and his limp almost nonexistent. He looked more like the Professor Snape she remembered, stubborn and angry and absolutely refusing to compromise in any way. Evidently her little motivational speech, coupled with whatever he had seen in her mind, had benefitted him in some way.

"You're drooling," Neville murmured, grinning at her when she glared at him.

"I am not," she denied hotly in a whisper, unable to quite suppress a smile. The charisma and forceful air she had long associated with Severus was more obvious now, and she had to admit, it looked good on him. He finally looked as if he was happy with who he was. Glancing along the staff table, she caught Madam Pomfrey's eye, and the nurse smiled slightly before looking away; Minerva's expression was wooden.

Ignoring everyone present as he usually did, Severus took his seat at the end of the table and turned his attention to apparently trying to drink his own bodyweight in black coffee; he looked even more tired than Hermione felt, although only someone who knew him as well as she did could possibly have spotted it. All his attention was apparently on his coffee cup, but he had shifted his chair over slightly as he sat down and his leg was touching hers virtually from ankle to hip.

There was a further surprise in store as they left the Great Hall; she was walking with Neville when Severus fell in beside them. Neville glanced sideways at her and she shrugged slightly; she didn't know what he was up to either. He usually avoided everyone in public. The three of them walked in silence for a short while before Severus said unexpectedly, "Neville."

Startled, Neville took a moment to respond. "Uh, yes?"

"Thank you for what you said yesterday."

They both stared at him; he avoided eye contact with either of them and after a moment turned off down a side corridor, sweeping out of sight in his usual fluid stalk. Neville gaped after him for a long moment. "Apart from when he took the register in our first ever Potions lesson, I don't think he's ever used my first name before," he managed finally. "Did you put him up to that, 'Mione?"

"No," she denied, shaking her head for good measure. "I showed him the memory of what was said at the meeting and of us talking afterwards, that's all. We didn't even discuss it, and I definitely didn't know he was going to do that." After a moment she grinned at her friend. "See, I told you he could be sweet."

"I think the world might be about to end," he muttered, looking as though he wasn't sure whether to laugh or run away. His personal planet had clearly started spinning the other way on its axis.

"You'll get over it. See you around." Exhaustion notwithstanding, today seemed to be shaping up to be much better than yesterday, Hermione considered as she headed for her classroom.

* * *

The day passed much as any other day of teaching did, although she was getting unbelievably tired now and chose to nap through lunch in the hope that she would make it to the end of the day. Her last class was with the third years, and as they left Timothy Alton hung back to ask her a question.

"Yes, Mr Alton?"

He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence that clearly meant trouble. "I was wondering if Professor Snape was all right..."

"And why would you be wondering such a thing?" she asked, raising her head and regarding him levelly.

"Well, I had Potions this morning, and he wasn't acting like himself, Professor," he replied earnestly. "I think I nearly saw him smile once, so naturally, I am concerned."

"Five points from Slytherin for impudence, Mr Alton," she sighed, forcing herself not to smile. "Why did you choose to raise these 'concerns' of yours with me, rather than with Professor Snape?"

"Because I quite like my head attached to my shoulders, Professor Granger."

Biting the side of her tongue hard for a moment to keep her expression under control, Hermione shook her head slightly and pointed to the door. "I think you should leave before I am forced to deduct more points, Mr Alton. Be off with you." As she said it, she realised that she had unthinkingly quoted Severus on the last occasion she had seen Timothy with his Head of House, and wasn't much surprised when the boy grinned broadly.

"As you say, Professor. Thank you." He scampered to the door and made a very hasty exit, leaving her smiling ruefully and reflecting once again that she really would have made a crap Slytherin. _Cheeky brat. I like him, though. _She was well aware that the whole of Slytherin House strongly suspected their relationship, ever since just before Christmas when Severus had told them to trust her as they did him – from a Slytherin perspective, that was the equivalent of shouting it from the rooftops, really.

But, being Slytherins, they wouldn't say anything. Partly so they could feel superior because nobody else had been smart enough to work it out, partly because Slytherins didn't gossip outside their House, partly because they liked being able to trust more than one member of staff, and partly because they no doubt had a very good idea of what Severus would do to them.

Unable to suppress a small smile, Hermione stood and stretched, glancing at the clock. She had a free period now, but she knew Severus did not; it was probably best to return to her almost-unused rooms and try to catch up on some sleep before dinner.

* * *

When she returned to the dungeons, she found Severus at his desk; by the look of things, he too had been napping throughout the day in order to stay functional. He was in one of his academic moods, by all appearances, surrounded by haphazard notes and scribbling furiously, and barely looked up when she came in.

"Working on something new?" she asked, perching on the only clear spot she could see on his desk and trying to read his spiky, narrow handwriting upside down.

"In a manner of speaking," he replied absently, abruptly crossing out something he had just written. "Not a potion this time, though. I am thinking of undertaking a new project, not that I imagine I will have time for it."

Curious now, Hermione stopped squinting at his chaotic notes and looked at him. "What project?"

"If nothing else, yesterday showed me that we cannot depend on Hogwarts for a truthful and unbiased account of the war," he muttered, writing so fast she didn't understand how he could possibly read anything later. Finishing the sentence with an unnecessarily forceful full stop, he sat back and looked up at her, his eyes unreadable and cautious. "Minerva will certainly not be the only one unable to prevent her personal feelings from colouring her account of those years. And as we saw when you were trying to explain to your parents, any official sources of information will be worse than useless."

She turned his words over in her mind, looking for hidden meanings, and finally blinked and looked at him in some surprise. "You're thinking of writing a book? That's wonderful, but you're right, you really won't have time."

He half-smiled and looked back at his notes. "Not... precisely," he said slowly, avoiding her eyes. "I was thinking about the possibility of collaboration." He glanced up at her uncertainly. "Have you ever considered a more literary career?"

Considering that she had only recently been pondering what an abysmal Slytherin she would have been, Hermione was quite impressed by the myriad possible motives for this that poured into her mind now. And given the disaster of yesterday, it was inevitable that the one that made it to her lips was, "A full disclosure of the war, co-written by Snape and Granger? Now, that really would be a slap in the face to... well, everyone!"

Severus chuckled softly, uncertainty giving way to a smirk. "I admit that the idea is attractive solely for that reason."

"It has a lot of appeal, though," she said more thoughtfully. "Your personal views about history and the students needing to know the full story. Getting your own side of the story across so people stop spitting at you and calling you names. It's a very good idea, actually, although God knows when we'll find the time. It's just as well wizards live so long, I think." She smiled at him. "Maybe we can talk it through properly once term's done and we've got a bit more time."

He nodded, the uncertainty briefly showing again in his eyes. "Speaking of the summer..." he began cautiously, "I wondered if you had considered any plans for the holidays."

"No, I haven't, not really," she answered slowly, "but from the sound of it you have. Care to enlighten me?"

Sitting straighter in his chair, he steepled his fingers and observed dispassionately, "I had thought of France."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. I hear the Dordogne region in particular has a lot to recommend it."

Hermione struggled not to gape at him. Unless she was very much mistaken, Severus had just offered to allow her to take him to meet her parents; she wondered if anyone else could possibly understand what it had cost him to make that offer. Resisting her first impulse – to leap on him and kiss him senseless – she managed to keep her tone light. "One day you're going to come up with a surprise that I won't like."

He relaxed and smirked again. "Nonsense; I am quite clearly an expert on pleasing women," he replied sarcastically.

That was the most overt innuendo she had ever heard from him, and she certainly wasn't going to let it pass unremarked; smirking back at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? I don't recall noticing this expertise. I feel a demonstration is in order..."

* * *

_Yet more fanart - a beautiful banner from **EreshkigalGirl: **tinyurl dot com /3kqequ5_


	31. Chapter 31

_Congratulations __**Ishtart **for writing my 1,000th review. Now, in this chapter, Severus has finally had enough...  
_

* * *

**"****It may sound absurd, but don't be naive  
****Even heroes have the right to bleed  
I may be disturbed... but won't you concede  
Even heroes have the right to dream  
It's not easy to be me**.**"**  
– Five For Fighting, 'Superman'.

* * *

Evidently Severus had taken the teasing comment as a challenge. Whatever his motive, the end result was that their clothing was strewn haphazardly on the floor in a trail leading directly from his desk to his bedroom, where they now lay entwined on the bed, kissing and touching as the first urgent rush subsided. Hermione arched into his touch as his hand slid between her legs, winding her fingers through his hair as he moved his mouth to her breasts, and laughed softly. "Yes, now that you mention it, you do seem remarkably skilled at pleasing women – this woman, anyway."

His tongue circled her nipple and she felt the vibration of his answering chuckle against her skin as his fingers probed a little deeper. "I am so glad you noticed. I would hate all this effort to be wasted."

Arching her hips involuntarily, she smirked, looking down at the top of his head. "Is it such... hard... work?" she asked slyly, shifting her body so that her thigh slid against his erection.

Severus nipped her breast gently by way of rebuke before licking the spot. "Now, Professor Granger, there is no need for that. You have a remarkably crude vocabulary at times."

Gently tightening her fingers in his hair, she lifted his head, and he looked at her, his black eyes gleaming with heat. Licking her lips deliberately, she watched his eyes follow the movement and smiled slowly, teasing him. "That's rich, coming from you, Professor Snape. Besides, it can be useful, possessing a dirty mouth," she murmured. "And really, you have demonstrated your expertise in this area – I feel obliged to exhibit my own."

He arched an eyebrow. "You wish to demonstrate your expertise when it comes to pleasing women? An interesting thought, but I've never really been into lesbian fantasies..."

"Keep the smart-arse comments up, Slytherin, and this night isn't going to end the way you hope," she warned him with a laugh, pulling him closer and kissing him as her hand trailed down his chest, wandering lower. His breath escaped him in a long sigh when she touched him, his eyes closing, and she used the opportunity to push him onto his back before leaning in to kiss him once more; he responded eagerly, his hands sliding down her back to her buttocks, squeezing gently as he pulled her more closely against him.

Bracing her palms against his shoulders, Hermione pushed herself away, breaking the kiss and looking down at him as her hair fell around her face in a riot of curls; he opened his eyes and looked up at her, but she was already moving, half-crawling further down the bed to take him in her mouth. She hadn't given him much warning this time, no slow path down his body to let him get used to the idea, but from the tone of his voice as he cried out she didn't think it really mattered. His fingers wound their way into her hair as his hips arched, and she smiled around him as she worked her way down over his erection, sucking gently.

He shuddered, groaning and making small noises in the back of his throat, before saying thickly, "Hermione, turn around..." Pausing, she looked up along the line of his body, and he stared down at her with burning eyes. "Turn around," he repeated in a growl, and she shivered, smiling as she realised what he meant. Lifting her head, she moved to all fours and swung a leg over him, settling her knees by his shoulders and lowering her head to his groin once more; it wasn't as easy to tease this way, but it was a better angle to get him down her throat, and then she felt his hands grasp her thighs and pull her down to meet his mouth and she moaned around him.

It turned into almost a competition; who could drive the other to the point where they lost concentration? Every time his mouth left her to voice a cry or to say something incoherent, every time he made her writhe on top of him and have to lift her head from him just to breathe, they returned with renewed determination. And for once, it seemed to be a competition that Severus was losing; Hermione knew she had finally found his weak spot. He simply didn't have the experience to maintain control through this, and she had to admit she loved finding something she was better at than he was – although as she moaned again and pushed her hips back against his face she concluded that he was nonetheless extremely good.

He was starting to lose control now, his hips bucking as his breathing grew heavy, and she could taste him as he drew closer to the edge. Reaching between his legs, she cradled him gently in her hand and heard him groan, shuddering beneath her as she ran her tongue along his shaft once more. His actions between her legs were less precise and accurate now as his concentration faltered, and she couldn't help feeling a little smug at the knowledge that she had managed to distract the most focused and controlled man she had ever met. His head fell back at last, his fingers digging into her thighs, and she felt the shuddering wave pass through his body as he gasped her name before arching his back and crying out as he climaxed.

Swallowing slowly as she sucked him clean, Hermione smiled triumphantly as she started to move away; she'd definitely won this round, she reflected as she heard his heavy breathing somewhere behind and beneath her. His hands dug into her thighs again, holding her in place, and her smile grew as she realised Severus was far from finished with her; he buried his face between her legs once more and he returned to what he had been doing before she had so neatly distracted him, and as he licked and sucked and probed between gasps for breath she gave herself over to him, no longer having to concentrate. Moments later the world went white and she sank into a haze of pleasure, biting playfully at his hip as she moaned in bliss.

Collapsed on top of him as her breathing slowed, she felt him nuzzle at the inside of her thigh and smiled shakily, aware that the gesture was also a subtle hint for her to move and let him get his breath back. Slowly pushing herself to all fours, she crawled off him and turned around, sprawling comfortably next to him and looking at him before stifling a laugh. "God, your face is a mess."

He chuckled softly, still sounding a little breathless as he started wiping his mouth and jaw with his hand, pausing every so often to lick his fingers. "I'm not surprised," he murmured, his eyes half-closed as he stretched and sighed languorously. "I don't suppose you could be persuaded to remain here for the rest of the evening?"

"I shouldn't think you'd find it too difficult to persuade me," Hermione replied dryly, "but I should get to dinner. I've teamed up with Neville to make Minerva squirm."

"A worthy goal," he conceded, half-hooded eyes watching her lazily as she started to gather her scattered clothing with flicks of her wand. "I admit, even I was surprised. That level of sheer spite is usually reserved just for me; certainly not for her Gryffindor heroes. And as Longbottom pointed out, even I would never have sunk so low."

"Why is she acting like this? I've never seen her so... I don't even know how to describe it."

He shrugged, pausing and lowering his hand from his face, licking his lips absently. "Post traumatic stress," he replied calmly. "It affects everyone differently – you know that already. Minerva McGonagall is a very strong and determined woman; she got off lightly in terms of trauma. But she was born in the twenties; she lived through two wizarding wars and several Muggle ones. The year I spent as the visible figurehead of everything wrong in her personal world was the last year of the last war; I was the culmination of everything she has seen and endured, if you like. She's known me for almost forty years now – well, thirty, if you don't count my time wandering around the world – but she doesn't see that when she looks at me any more. She just sees the Death Eater."

"Does it hurt you?" she asked him gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sometimes," he admitted quietly. "But only sometimes. We were never truly close, really – there's too much history from my student days. And it isn't entirely her fault." His eyes hardened for a moment. "Still, her attitude is getting rather tiresome now. And there's no excuse for her taking it out on Longbottom just because she's finding it hard to cope." The hard expression faded into a sudden grin. "Ironic, that, coming from me, isn't it?" he observed dryly, making her smile for a moment.

Cleaning up and finding fresh knickers, Hermione turned and looked at him, wanting to ask but not sure she dared. "Were you there, when it happened?" she finally asked softly.

Severus shook his head. "It was after the Dark Lord fell. The Death Eaters had scattered; I had no knowledge of what had happened. I would have tried to do something if I had known what they planned, because I have been driven close to permanent insanity by the Cruciatus before. I would not wish it on anyone." Despite the subject, he didn't sound defensive, angry or upset, and evidently recognised from her tone that it wasn't an accusation.

Doing up her jeans, she located her bra with some difficulty, stretching lazily. "Do you have any advice for us now? You've had much more practice annoying Minerva than we have."

He chuckled softly and stretched again. "Longbottom wasn't truly upset by the reference, but there is no need for the Headmistress to know that. I trust he still remembers how to flinch when a teacher looks at him – if he can look miserable rather than afraid, nothing else will be necessary."

"What do you suggest I do to make it clear that I'm not happy with her treatment of my friends?"

Finishing cleaning his face, he gave her something close to a fond smile. "Just be yourself, my little hellcat. The rest will follow."

"Bastard," she commented lightly, smiling back at him as she dug a new t-shirt out of a drawer, watching his face as she pulled it over her head. It was grey-green, with an image of a king snake banded in black, red and off-white – chosen because it bore as little resemblance to Nagini as possible whilst still being undeniably Slytherin.

He blinked slowly. "Nice shirt."

Hermione grinned at him. "I was going to buy it for you, actually, but I thought you might appreciate my wearing it more."

"Oh, yes..." he agreed in almost a purr, his dark eyes gleaming as he appraised her. "My House will appreciate it also," he added in a more businesslike tone, "albeit for vastly different reasons."

She smiled, finding her socks and shoes. "Timothy came to me after class today to ask if you were all right – he said he saw you nearly smiling in his Potions lesson and he was worried about you."

"One day that boy is going to get himself too deep in trouble to be able to cheek his way out of it," Severus murmured. "I shall have to repeat my lesson on when to keep silent – I suspect several of them could use the reminder."

"I think it's all right, actually," she replied with a shrug as she attempted to tame her hair. "I know your students would have realised what's going on when you told them before Christmas to trust me as they do you. For a Slytherin that was extremely blunt."

"You've been a bad influence on me," Severus agreed, smirking as he returned to his lazy appraisal.

"Keep that up and I won't give you your present."

"You just said you didn't buy me the shirt..."

"I know." Grinning, she pulled the box out of the same drawer that the shirt had been in and tossed it to him. "Open it quick, I've got to go or I'll be late."

He did so and held the coffee mug up to the light; one side bore the triangle image of the Pink Floyd logo, and the other side had written on it _No dark sarcasm in the classroom. _His full-throated laughter followed her as she left the room and hastened to the Great Hall.

* * *

The following evening, Minerva reluctantly called Hermione, Severus and Neville to her office. In wordless accord, the three of them declined refreshment or the invitation to take a seat; Hermione wandered over to the window and made a show of admiring the view, since she hadn't actually been directly insulted. Neville remained standing in front of the Headmistress' desk, his head held high and a very convincing look of injured defiance on his face. Severus was slouched casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his usual disdainful sneer in place as he looked around the office that had once been his. Most of the portraits were feigning sleep; Dilys and Phineas had moved to Albus' portrait and the three of them were watching silently.

The silence dragged out as the level of tension in the room started to climb, but Hermione felt no compunction to end it; the three of them had been discussing their behaviour on the way to this meeting and Severus' knowledge of Minerva's likely reactions was invaluable, which was why she and Neville were deferring to him as the most injured party.

Finally, after what he apparently deemed an appropriate interval, Severus sighed a little theatrically and remarked in a distant tone, "I am on patrol this evening and I have to complete the proctor's forms before the examinations start. Fascinating as it is to see the changes in decor in this office – your stereotypical use of tartan is, as ever, inspiring – there are more productive uses for my time than simply standing here. I assume there was a purpose to this meeting?"

Hermione suppressed a smile; this was Professor Snape at his very best, snarky and supercilious and refusing to bend by as much as an inch. He had a lot of good reasons to truly hate Minerva McGonagall, who had never once taken his side in anything since he was eleven years old and who had made his life far more difficult than it needed to be at a time when he had most needed support, and clearly he didn't intend to go easy on her now. Had he been planning to be less of a bastard, he would have found a way to mention showers by now.

Minerva's jaw tightened. "Indeed there was," she replied coolly, obviously restraining herself from saying anything nasty in response; the effort it was costing her was painful to witness. After a moment the Headmistress sighed and turned away from him to regard the others in the room. "Neville, please, accept my apologies. I did not mean to resurrect painful memories and I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"What were you trying to do, then?" Neville asked, his mild tone implying that he was going to accept the apology – eventually – but not without an explanation. "I don't really see why you brought my parents up. Professor Snape wasn't there; he wasn't even a Death Eater any more when they were attacked. We were talking about why the Ministry were involving themselves in Order business, that's all; then you started bringing up past incidents that were talked to death ten years ago..."

The Headmistress held her poise remarkably, Hermione conceded. "I misspoke when I mentioned your parents. I did not intend to harm you, and I have apologised for that. Let that be an end to the matter, please, Neville." She was making it clear that she didn't owe Neville an explanation; that was fine, she didn't. She _did _owe Severus one, but that apparently wasn't going to be forthcoming. Continuing briskly, Minerva went on, "And Hermione – I meant no offense to you, either."

"You don't owe _me _an apology," Hermione replied calmly, turning from the window and regarding her employer. Neville came to stand beside her, both of them attempting to fade into the background, and all eyes in the room turned back to Severus; he raised an eyebrow, a mocking half-smile on his face, and waited as the silence drew out once more.

"Severus," Minerva began eventually, "I may perhaps have misspoken to you the other day, as well..." His expression didn't change in the slightest; he simply continued leaning against the wall and watching her slowly digging a deeper hole. "Albus has reminded me of the... official story behind that particular incident, and... There is little point in raking up the past..."

"Oh, Merlin, this is painful," Severus snapped, losing patience at last. "Good grief, woman, stop before you hurt yourself." Pushing himself upright, he stalked across the room to stand in front of the desk, the mocking half-smile giving way to something colder. "We both know that even if you managed to force the words out, you would not be remotely sincere, and I grew tired of hearing such meaningless and empty phrases many years ago. Now, if that was all, I have work to do."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but her voice remained level. "There was one more thing. I must ask you not to attend the memorial service at the end of the month."

"You don't have the authority to forbid him to attend, as it's not a Hogwarts event," Hermione pointed out, but she was interrupted by Severus' rough and mirthless laugh.

"Did you really imagine I intended to go?" he asked Minerva, with enough anger in his voice that Hermione was glad she hadn't tried to persuade him to do just that. "I'm not the Order's pet Death Eater any more," he continued coldly, "and I no longer need to deliberately put myself in situations where I will get hurt. I have no intention of allowing the mob to take a free shot at me."

"I would have imagined that you would leap at the chance to stand and sneer at us," Minerva replied coolly. "It is an opportunity to admire your work."

His lip curled. "You have no idea how I think, or what I want, Minerva. You never did." His eyes flicked to Albus' portrait. "Nor did you, old man," he added without rancour.

"No, Severus," the former Headmaster agreed quietly, "I did not. Events might have been easier for us all if I had; certainly they would have been easier for you."

"How much easier did it need to be?" Minerva asked scathingly, and jumped when her teacup shattered; Severus had evidently reached the limit of what he was prepared to tolerate, and the room seemed suddenly too small as the aura of his magic swelled with the strength of his anger.

"_Enough,_" he hissed, gripping the edge of the desk and leaning forward, looming over her. Hermione and Neville, by the window, could only see his shoulders. "You have _no _idea what you are talking about! If I had not killed Albus that night, what would have happened?" When she didn't answer, he roared, "_Tell me!_"

"He would still have been alive," Minerva snapped back at him, her voice holding a thin edge of nerves – hardly surprising, given the man glaring at her from a few inches away. When Severus lost control of himself enough to start shouting, he was dangerously close to snapping completely.

"No, he wouldn't, you stupid and vindictive old hag!" Severus visibly made himself stop and take a deep breath with some effort, forcing his voice back to icy calmness. "If the Death Eaters had not attacked that night – if the confrontation atop the Astronomy Tower had not taken place – what would have happened? You would still have had your precious Albus Dumbledore, yes – Albus Dumbledore half-poisoned from the Potion of Despair, which has no antidote, and with a festering dark curse slowly eating him away from the inside, which had no cure. He would have lasted a month or two at best and his death would not have been pretty.

"The point is moot. The Death Eaters did attack. Draco would never have had the courage to do it – the snivelling little ferret simply wasn't strong enough. Had I not cast the curse, it would have been one of the others; Fenrir, or Bellatrix, or any of them. Or perhaps they would have captured Dumbledore instead? Weakened as he was, he would have been easy prey. The Dark Lord would have broken into his mind and found the keys to the wizarding world, and the war would have been over in a matter of days. The very best outcome of that night was that Dumbledore die quickly and cleanly. Why was I the best choice to do it?" Minerva didn't answer him, and his voice lowered dangerously. "_Why, _Minerva?"

"The Elder Wand..."

"No. Potter wasn't the only one who could add two and two – I saw Draco holding Dumbledore's wand. Why did it have to be me who cast the curse?"

"I – I don't know..."

"Because it meant I could return to the Dark Lord and tell him that I had killed his greatest threat, and _that _meant that he _gave me Hogwarts._" Severus was fighting desperately to control his rage, Hermione could hear it in his voice, but she couldn't see his face. "Had I not been chosen, it would likely have been Bellatrix left in charge, with Lucius in disgrace as he was; nobody else stood high enough in the Inner Circle to be trusted, not when Hogwarts was so important to the Dark Lord. How many of you do you think would have survived had _she _been left to play? You cannot begin to imagine what she would have done to the children. You would likely have been nailed to the wall and made to watch," he added in a disturbingly flat tone that clearly said that he hadn't chosen his words merely for effect.

He continued in the same brittle voice, every word holding that trembling edge of fury under the icy calm. "And had I not cast the Killing Curse that night, the Unbreakable Vow would have killed me."

Hermione didn't hear what Minerva said in response, but it had evidently been something along the lines of 'no great loss'. Severus laughed harshly, and even that sound held rage.

"You think so, do you? When the Death Eaters came to your house that summer, you weren't there, because you had received an anonymous tip just an hour before the attack. When Kingsley Shacklebolt was poisoned, Poppy Pomfrey was able to steal a vial of the rare, costly and difficult to brew antidote that _just happened _to have been left on a shelf right beside the door of my conveniently unlocked and unwarded store cupboard when I was unaccountably absent. When the Ministry dispatched Aurors after Lupin and his mate, they found themselves chasing a tangle of false leads. How do you imagine this happened, Minerva? What could possibly have been going on?"

His voice became very quiet and very dangerous. "The Order all turned their backs on me. Not one of you stopped to think that perhaps things might not have been as they seemed. But I never turned from you. I continued spying for you, I gave you warnings when I could, I did everything in my power to aid you even though you all hated me. And that is not all I did. The Dark Lord had such grand plans for Hogwarts – why do you imagine he never once visited the school to see his orders carried out? Did you think he had grown bored of the idea? _I _ensured that he did not, and you can be assured that I paid dearly for it. I openly disobeyed him by making no attempt to stop the rebellion, and I paid for that, too. Every bit of graffiti on the wall, every student missing when their families were arrested, cost me blood."

"I'm sorry," Neville whispered; his face was white and he was clinging to Hermione's arm hard enough to leave bruises. "I – we made things so much worse..."

Severus turned his head just enough to glance at the two of them, his black eyes glittering with anger. "You never learn, do you, Longbottom. Never apologise for doing the right thing. What happened was my choice – do you think I didn't realise how much easier my life would have been if I had simply killed you? Your little friends would have backed down very quickly after that! I chose to leave you alive and capable of resisting me, and I accepted the price of that choice, as I accepted the price of every choice I made." He turned back to Minerva, still hidden from view by his dark and looming figure, and stared down at her. Very slowly he leaned down until his face must have been very close to hers.

"I wish I had been weaker," he whispered, "I wish I had not stood by my choices and accepted my obligations, I wish I had lacked the strength to defy my master; everything would have been much simpler and much less painful. But do you know what I wished for more than anything else in that final year, Minerva? Do you know what my greatest wish was?" She had obviously shaken her head or made some other sign that no, she didn't. Severus straightened up slowly. "I wished with all my heart that Black had succeeded when I was sixteen; that Potter had never interfered; that Lupin had ripped my throat out. I wished that the Marauders had won, so that I could have died before I made that first disastrous choice, before any of this happened."

He took a step back from the desk at last, the simmering rage dying away as he regained some semblance of control over himself; taking a deep breath, he held it for a long moment and exhaled slowly, sounding more tired than anything else. "Never begin this confrontation again, Minerva. Since I was eleven you have given me so many reasons to hate you; sooner or later I will run out of reasons to let you treat me the way you do. I have recently come to realise that I am not the man so many of you have made me out to be, and I don't intend to put up with this any more. Without me, you would all be dead, or you would be slaves and prisoners of the Dark Lord. I paid very dearly for your freedom; all I ask in return is that you _leave me alone._" Turning on his heel, he stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

Minerva was white-faced and looked almost in shock; Hermione wasn't feeling much better, but she managed to gently remove Neville's grip on her arm and crossed shakily to the desk, repairing the broken crockery and making tea for the three of them. Nobody said anything as they settled into chairs and sipped, slowly calming down after what had just happened; the sheer force of Severus' rage still lingered in the air, as strong as if the man himself was still in the room.

Finally, shakily, the Headmistress set her cup down. "I half-thought he was going to kill me," she admitted unsteadily.

"I think so did he," Hermione replied quietly, feeling cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature in the office. "I'm not sure how he held himself back. He was so terribly angry." He had been even angrier than when he had confronted Sirius and Remus in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year, which until now had been the worst she had ever seen him.

"Severus' self control is unlike anything I have ever seen," Albus remarked from the wall, his eyes saddened. "But he does have limits, Minerva. I believe that if you provoke him again he will in all likelihood kill you."

"In my opinion, he would not be in the wrong if he did," Phineas put in. For once, the Slytherin's portrait wasn't sneering or trying to stir up trouble; he was completely serious and cold. "Merlin's beard, McGonagall, you have had ten years of Albus himself telling you that he asked Severus to do what he did, and you have seen enough evidence of what that cost him. Do as he says and leave him alone."

Minerva sighed, resting her head in her hands. "I can't help it. I don't like him, I don't trust him. I've seen him do too many truly terrible things. Intellectually I know the full story, I've seen the memories he gave Harry, I've heard Poppy testify to the kind of damage he took from Voldemort, I know all the ugly alternatives, but I can't change how I feel."

"He doesn't care if you hate him or not, and he certainly doesn't care whether you trust him or not," Hermione said tiredly. "He really doesn't. He just wants you to leave him alone to get on with his job. Severus gave up all hope of ever being liked or trusted when he was still a boy. He just wants to be left in peace."

"And what do you want?" Dilys asked softly.

"I want him to be acknowledged, just once. I want him to be recognised for what he did. And I want him to have the peace he needs. He deserves so much better than the life he had."

"He said he _lets_ people treat him like that," Neville commented shakily, and Hermione felt a little of the chill ease as she remembered what Severus had said. He was finally realising that he was a good man and didn't deserve the treatment he received; that alone made it all worthwhile, no matter what happened in the future.

"He does; or, rather, he did," Albus agreed, with a shadow of his usual twinkle that suggested he too knew what Severus had been saying. "I don't think he intends to allow it any more. A man can only punish himself for so long."

"I have one question, sir," Hermione said softly, looking up at the portrait. "Why did you not tell anyone else the truth of what happened? Why did you let all of us think that Severus had betrayed us? If even one other person had known whose side he was really on, it would have made so much difference to him..."

Albus sighed. "It is one of many choices I regret, where Severus is concerned. To be blunt, Hermione, he was a better spy because he was so obviously a traitor to the Order; Tom trusted him absolutely. Had there been anything less than universal resistance and hatred, he would not have been granted such autonomy within Hogwarts. And he functioned better as a spy when he was angry and alone – gentler emotions would only have distracted him. Severus himself would agree with my reasoning, but Severus has never had the clarity needed to judge what is best for him. That, too, made him invaluable; he took risks that nobody else would, because he didn't care what happened to him."

"'Be careful in dealing with a man who cares nothing for sensual pleasures, nothing for comfort or praise or promotion, but is simply determined to do what he believes to be right. He is a dangerous and uncomfortable enemy because his body, which you can always conquer, gives so little purchase over his soul'," Hermione quoted softly. The original quote was actually about Mahatma Gandhi, but it was uncannily appropriate here, and she had thought of Severus as soon as she had read it.

"That is precisely Severus," Albus agreed quietly. "However harsh I was, however brutal my demands on him, he always asked more of himself than I did. He was and still is his own worst enemy."

"Not any more, it would seem," Dilys said thoughtfully. "He has finally started to learn that he is human and has the same rights as the rest of us."

Minerva sighed again. "I can't change the way I feel, but I will try to stop constantly mentioning his crimes. I didn't know everything, I admit it now. But Hermione, I wish you would reconsider your attempt to befriend him – he isn't entirely stable..."

"He won't hurt me," she replied quietly, shaking her head. "I'm not afraid of him. I like him, Minerva – this isn't a campaign. He really is my friend. And you don't really believe that he's unstable, or you would never allow him to teach the children. Please, just do as he asks and let him be."

* * *

Much later that night, Hermione let herself out of the main doors into the warm summer darkness and sat down on the steps, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke that didn't quite hide the smells of the Potions classroom clinging to the shadowy figure beside her, his cigarette glowing red. "Are you feeling better?"

He exhaled a thin plume of smoke. "Yes."

"I filled out your proctor's forms, by the way; I charmed a quill to something resembling your handwriting. All you need to do is sign them."

"Thank you."

"I'm glad I didn't ask you to go to the service," she said lightly.

"Why would you?"

"Partly because I wanted you to be there with me, partly because you have every right to be there, and partly to piss off the Ministry," she admitted cheerfully.

Severus huffed a quiet laugh. "It's a tempting thought, but I have no wish to start a riot. That seldom ends well for me, in my considerable experience of such things."

She touched his hand gently, hidden in the shadows between their bodies. "Did you mean what you said earlier, about starting to realise that you're a better man than you think?"

He turned his hand palm up, linking his fingers through hers. "You're a very annoying woman at times, Hermione. I was quite happy with my self-loathing until you came along and reminded me that I was human after all."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to apologise for that." She squeezed his fingers. "Severus, I want you to promise me something."

"What?" he asked warily.

"I want you to promise that you'll stop trying to push me away. If you ever truly want me to leave, then tell me honestly; until then, stop trying to persuade me that you're evil or worthless or both, that you don't deserve me and that I'm better off without you, because it's not going to work."

"Nobody deserves you."

"That's a very Slytherin comment with several possible meanings, and I'm not going to try and work out which one you meant. Stop changing the subject."

He was quiet for a few minutes, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out before staring out into the darkness silently. Finally he said very softly, "I promise."

* * *

Truthfully, Hermione hadn't expected him to give that promise, but everything about Severus' reaction to the incident was puzzling her. He seemed to have lost that savage rage entirely and the only real change she had noticed was that he seemed more pensive and thoughtful.

His first encounter with Minerva since it happened had the entire faculty on edge and watching apprehensively, but there had been no display of temper on either side; Severus had looked at Minerva with neutral eyes and then continued on his way without comment. Replaying the incident later, Hermione realised just how absolutely neutral his eyes had been; wild predators looked at humans like that, without fear or even much interest, just complete indifference. And there had been nothing remotely submissive or deferential; he had in effect declared himself Minerva's equal, and she clearly didn't know how to slap him down. It wasn't a challenge to her authority; Severus simply didn't submit to anyone. They were either his inferiors, or – rather more rarely – his equals; he acknowledged nobody as a superior now that he wasn't sworn to a master.

Minerva didn't seem to know how to react either; rarely had Hermione seen her former Head of House so off balance. Certainly there had been no apology offered on either side, and neither party would have accepted one anyway, but... Severus had revealed a lot in that office that Minerva clearly hadn't known. Hell, even Hermione hadn't realised that he'd kept passing information to the Order anonymously; nor had she considered why Voldemort hadn't spent more time at the school.

How much Severus had intended to reveal and why were entirely separate questions, of course, but she suspected he hadn't been as out of control as he had seemed. If he had truly been that angry, she didn't think he would have been able to stop himself from attacking someone. Apparently he felt confident enough of his value now that he was no longer willing to tolerate or accept his treatment, which was an amazing leap forward for him. She suspected that if a mob were to attack him in the street again, they would bleed for it; that wasn't really a good thing, of course, but she was overjoyed that he was willing to defend himself at last.

There was very little time for further analysis in any event, because the exams were upon them at last. Stressed students, invigilation duties, the increasing heat of summer and the approaching memorial service that had suddenly become so controversial left them both tired and irritable and longing for the year to end, frankly. Still, Hermione was actually looking forward to the service, in a twisted way; since Severus had first pointed out that it really wasn't anybody's business except the Order and those who had fought with them, she had been writing to a lot of her friends, and there was widespread agreement. She wanted to see what would happen.

* * *

It was better than she had hoped for, she reflected when it was finally done and her friends had departed. It was long into the night now, certainly after two, but she knew Severus would still be awake; she wondered whether he had been somehow watching from a distance or not, and even though she knew him so well by this point she really wasn't sure.

Not only was he awake, but he was working; she found him in the Potions classroom taking an inventory of the depleted stores and filling out the requisition form for his requirements for next year. "You've left that a bit late," she commented softly, watching him moving silently between the shelves.

He nodded slightly without looking around, making more notes on the form.

"Any students stolen from you this year?" she asked lightly.

His quiet voice held silken amusement as he replied, "No. Only one year held students rude enough and foolish enough to dare, and only one of them was smart enough to get away with it."

Smiling, Hermione moved closer and slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back and feeling the sinewy muscles move beneath his robe and shirt. "Really? Do continue."

"Unfortunately, this brief flash of intelligence seems to have been lost," he drawled. "The aforementioned student seems to have lost any trace of self-preservation and persists in annoying me when I am working."

Rubbing her cheek against his shoulder blade, she smiled to herself, amused at his teasing. This whimsical mood wasn't something she saw from him often. "That is rather foolish. Perhaps you are losing your touch, Severus – maybe you no longer inspire fear in all you encounter. You'll have to do something about that."

"I inspire fear in everyone save for a certain insufferable woman," he responded mildly. "I thought her intelligent, but if she does not fear me, well, that speaks for itself, does it not?" He signed the form in his hand and eased free of her arms to cross the room into his office, dropping it onto the pile that represented his out tray before propping his hips against the desk and regarding her with a slight smile. "Your day seems to have been successful."

"It was," she agreed, moving to stand close against him. "It's always lovely to see everyone, of course, but – things were different this time. You've started something."

He blinked. "Me?"

"Yes. I told my friends what you said about the Ministry; they agreed, and they wrote to others. The Order were... less than enthusiastic, today. The Minister didn't get much in the way of applause; nobody bothered to find their Orders of Merlin, and Harry refused to give a speech this year, as did Kingsley. I think those two are up to something, actually."

He frowned thoughtfully. "Interesting..."

Hermione groaned softly. "God, Severus, please forget you're a Slytherin, just for tonight. I've played enough politics today just by not mentioning you. No more plotting tonight. For me," she pleaded.

Severus raised an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. "Flutter your eyelashes and I'll hex you," he warned her mildly.

"You mean you're immune to my sexual wiles? How disappointing."

His look of amusement increased. "I didn't say that. Were you to get on your knees and beg, I'm sure I could be persuaded..." he purred.

"You're such a bastard." Laughing, she put her hands on her hips and tried to glare at him, but the teasing, playful light in his eyes made it impossible. Shaking her head at him, she gave up and moved close into his body, tapping his thigh until he shifted his legs apart and allowed her to stand between them. His arms slid around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, letting the feelings of the memorial wash over her; it was always a bittersweet ceremony, so many memories and emotions.

By the time she came back to the real world, he was fidgeting. It was nothing overt, nothing to disturb their embrace, but they were pressed closely enough that she could feel the tiny shifts of his muscles as he tried to ease his position, which meant that there was too much pressure on his bad leg and it was starting to cramp. Given that they weren't in an uncomfortable position, he'd been doing a lot of walking earlier. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be," he rebuked her gently. "If it bothered me too much, I would move."

"Where did you go, today?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been walking around a lot, or this wouldn't bother your leg."

Severus tensed for a moment, then relaxed with a soft laugh. "I keep forgetting that you can read me so well. I was at a travel agency, looking at brochures about France. I thought, rather than simply Apparate there – which is tiring and not terribly interesting – we might make a true holiday of it; take the ferry to Calais and drive down over two or three days."

Surprised, she considered the idea, before drawing away just enough to smile at him. "That sounds lovely, but I can't drive that prehistoric monster you call a car."

He gave her an amused look. "You won't have to, and it isn't that bad."

"You don't mind driving that far?"

"I would not have suggested it if I did," he replied patiently. "I enjoy driving. Really, Hermione, why do you constantly imagine that I will deliberately attempt things that I will find unpleasant or painful?"

"Because you frequently do," she pointed out.

Huffing in exasperation, he sat back a little and looked at her. "I am talking about us, not anything else. When I suggested that you move to the caravan for the summer, you reacted like this – why would I have asked if I did not want you there? Why would I suggest this holiday if I wasn't going to enjoy it as well?"

"Why did you suggest France in the first place?" she countered. "I don't believe for a second that you want to go and be judged by a pair of Muggles you've never met before. You hate most social situations anyway, and this one is going to be beyond awkward."

He was starting to look almost annoyed now, and sounded frustrated when he replied, "It doesn't cost me anything to do it. I don't care what they think, but you do. I know you wanted to ask me to meet them, just as I know you eventually want me to start seeing your friends. I am trying to show you that I don't object. If I felt that it would be too unpleasant, I would not offer, because even for you there are things I will not do. It is going to be awkward, yes, and uncomfortable, but I will do it and I will behave, because it isn't going to hurt me and it is important to you."

Hermione stared at him, completely stunned. His eyes hardened after a few moments and he scowled, looking away and breaking eye contact. "Surely it is not that much of a surprise," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I am not completely self serving; jokes aside, I am not a total bastard."

"No, no, it's not that at all! It's just... you don't usually like anyone acknowledging it, that's all." Reaching out, she touched his cheek gently. "I wasn't expecting you to admit that you were doing something nice."

He snorted softly, relaxing a little, although his eyes were guarded when he looked back at her. "I believe in therapeutic terms it is what is referred to as a breakthrough." He shrugged slightly. "The only time anyone acknowledged what I did was to try and manipulate me into doing something worse; it was never truly sincere, and I grew to hate it, because it reminded me of how badly I wanted it to be genuine. That no longer seems to be so important, because I know you are sincere. You won't tell that type of lie."

Thoughtful, she looked into his black eyes. "So, what, it's safe to be honest with me, because I won't use it against you?"

Severus considered this before nodding slowly. "Something like that, perhaps, yes," he allowed cautiously, trying to avoid eye contact without actually looking away. He looked uncertain and obviously feared that this was going to come back and bite him, but he didn't seem to be actively expecting it to; as he had said, that was a real breakthrough.

She stroked his face gently, cupping his cheek in her hand and sliding her thumb lightly along his cheekbone. "Thank you for trusting me," she told him quietly, before shifting and pushing him back to sit on the desk properly so she could install herself in his lap. "Did you bring any of the travel brochures back with you?"

* * *

_Yet more fanart - a bunch of total nerds who I call friends made me a present to celebrate that magical 1,000th review: _jeanswear dot deviantart dot com /#/d3d3lts


	32. Chapter 32

_I would like to apologise for my butchery of the French language in this chapter. (Now updated with a corrected version, thanks everyone)__  
_

* * *

**"****The broken locks were a warning that you got inside my head  
****I tried so hard to be guarded, but I'm an open book instead..**.**"**  
– Lifehouse, 'Broken'.

* * *

Two weeks later, a week after term had ended, Hermione found herself sitting in the battered jeep in a quiet street in a small town in the Dordogne. Crookshanks had been left with Harry and Ginny and she and Severus had travelled down across France, stopping overnight in Orleans. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the sun-warmed car window. "I'm nervous," she admitted softly.

He touched her hand gently, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Understandable, but it is too late to back down now. Go on."

"I'd rather you were with me."

"I will be, later. We talked about this. You should meet them alone first, talk to them. I am not the most important thing here." He offered her a slight smile. "Go on, Hermione. See your parents again, hug, cry, do all the other irritatingly sentimental things. Talk to them; you have almost a decade to catch up on. Later, when you're ready, phone me, and I'll come to you."

"What will you be doing?"

"Sightseeing." He shrugged. "I haven't been here before; I'll wander, take a look around. I'll be fine, and you're stalling for time." He smiled at her. "_Go._"

Leaning over, she kissed him gently. "You're a wonderful man, Severus Tobias Snape."

"You say that now, but you haven't seen me trying to play nice in an awkward social situation," he replied dryly, kissing her back. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Severus had been absolutely right, she reflected later. There _had_ been hugging, and crying, and lots more sentiment on both sides. Now she sat and sipped yet another cup of tea, trying to regain her mental balance, and looked at her parents with a sense of quiet almost disbelief, trying again to accept that this was happening. The last time she had seen them had been unbelievably traumatic, and she'd fled the house in tears. Now, at last, she could fix it.

They looked older. Nobody really thought of their parents as ageing, until it happened, and she hadn't seen them in the past decade. Living with Severus, who was only a couple of years younger than her parents, but looked much younger than that, she had forgotten how Muggles aged. Her father's hair was thinning, her mother's was turning white, both of them had gained weight and had extra lines on their faces. But it didn't matter; somewhere in that first rush of tears, the years had fallen away.

There had been a great deal to catch up on. Now they sat outside on the patio overlooking the street, drinking tea in the afternoon sunlight, and the conversation had finally turned to Severus.

"You mentioned earlier that you wanted to talk about him before we met him?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I suppose I'm trying to warn you, or at least just explain what this is. There are certain things I don't want you asking him. I know you're looking out for me and I know you're going to want to question him; he knows that, too. But Severus is a very private person – even I don't know everything there is to know. I can't explain just what it means that he suggested this. He'll let you interrogate him, but certain topics are going to hurt him, and I don't want that."

"Go on..."

"I'd prefer that you didn't ask him too much about the war, but I think that's the thing he'll care least about. You should be careful there, because he'll answer absolutely honestly, and you aren't going to want to know the details. There are questions I've regretted asking. It's the personal stuff that could hurt him, really. I guess the most important thing is, don't ask him directly if he loves me."

"What? Why not?"

She sighed. "Asking him about his feelings at all is tricky, and he hates discussing emotions, especially with strangers, but if you talk around the subject, he'll answer. It's the word he has problems with, not the concept. He's not ready to say it aloud, and I don't want him to feel like he _has _to. Please?"

Her parents exchanged glances. "All right," her father said finally. "What else?"

"I don't know, not specifically. He's okay with some really difficult topics, and not with less heavy ones. Just... if I ask you to leave a subject alone, please do it, for me? I don't think he'll feel confident enough to say that he doesn't want to answer a question. He's..." She had to smile. "He's nearly as nervous as I am about this meeting. He's pretending not to be – you won't spot it, so don't even try. You're not going to be able to read his emotions at all. But he really is nervous, and he's going to be trying very hard, so he'll let you push him and he'll accept things he wouldn't tolerate from someone else. Be nice to him, okay?"

They exchanged another glance, this one filled with laughter. "We'll try," her mother promised, smiling. "Give him a call. It's time we met him."

Hermione nodded slowly and picked up her phone, switching it to speaker and listening to the ringing until it clicked and his voice came over the speaker. "You're not allowed to play with my phone any more."

Blinking at his tone, she started to smile. "Severus, you're on speakerphone, be nice. Why not?"

"You changed my ringtone to Cyndi Lauper," he said in a mock-offended tone.

She smothered a laugh behind her hand; she'd completely forgotten that she'd done that. It had been a long time ago, but he seldom used his phone. "Oops?"

"Hmph. I'm getting a lot of very strange looks now."

Her parents were smiling as they listened to the exchange, she noticed, biting her lip to stop herself giggling. "Sorry."

"Liar."

"Where are you?"

"About ten minutes' walk away." He paused, before asking cautiously, "Do you wish me to come over now?"

"Yes, please."

"I'm on my way."

"All right, see you soon." She hung up and looked at her parents expectantly.

"What Cyndi Lauper song was it?" her father asked, fighting a smile.

"'True Colours'," she admitted, imagining Severus' reaction when his phone had started to ring. The lyrics had reminded her strongly of him, but she wasn't a fan of the actual tune, and nor was he. "Mum?"

"I think I can see what you meant about his voice," her mother said thoughtfully, her eyes twinkling. "Even with such a bad quality connection."

Hermione started to laugh. "Wait for the real thing. If he relaxes enough to speak normally... it's something else, it really is."

The three of them settled down to watch the street as nervous anticipation fluttered in her stomach. Finally she caught sight of him and pointed. "There; that's him."

She watched him moving closer; it had taken a second glance to pick him out from the crowd. He was very carefully trying to seem as inoffensive as possible; scuffed trainers, dark blue jeans, a pale grey t-shirt and a long-sleeved dark green shirt worn open over the top. Just from the way he was walking, she could tell he was nervous; he was holding himself stiffly and had suppressed his limp, and only a conscious effort was keeping his head high and his hair out of his eyes.

Despite all that, though, he still drew the eye, even when he was trying to be carefully nondescript, and she couldn't help but smile as she watched him approach the steps that led up to the patio where they sat. His eyes had softened fractionally as he glanced at her, but his face was the carefully impassive mask that she disliked – although on this occasion she was prepared to forgive him for it. The three of them stood as he came to them.

"Mum, Dad, this is Severus. Severus, this is Doctor John Granger and Doctor Helen Granger."

"Hello, Severus. We've heard a lot about you."

He nodded slightly and shook hands with each of them. "_Bonjour._"

"Ah, _parlez-vous Francais?_"

"_Oui._"

"He speaks better French than I do," Hermione supplied, amused by the exchange. "Not that that's very difficult."

"Can I get you anything to drink, Severus?" her mother asked, falling back into 'mothering' mode easily. "Tea, coffee, something cold?"

"Coffee would be welcome, please," he responded carefully.

"Of course. Milk, sugar?"

"No, thank you."

They settled down again, and the interrogation began.

And it _was _an interrogation. The questions had started out innocently enough, very careful questions about the war and less careful but still acceptable questions about Severus' job and how he and Hermione had become friends, but now things were getting more intense and Severus was starting to look hunted. Watching him trying to keep his voice level as he attempted to explain the difference between true Dark Magic and what people perceived as Dark Magic, she saw the muscle twitch under his eye and knew he'd had enough. Frankly she was amazed he had tolerated it this long.

Matters came to a head following an in-depth discussion of all his visible scars, when her mother asked him bluntly how many people he had killed throughout his life; Hermione saw him flinch and her temper snapped. "That's enough," she said quietly, in a voice so cold that it surprised her, and stood up. "Mum, Dad, inside. I want to speak to you. Here, Severus." She dug a cigarette out of her pocket and threw it at him. "Stay here. This won't take long."

* * *

Severus stared down at the cigarette in his hand, focusing on his breathing. This wasn't actually one of his; those were in his pocket with his lighter. He examined it cautiously before sniffing it. _Ah. Clever. _She had laced it with Calming Draught. Considering for a moment, he shrugged and lit up, well aware that he needed it, and was relieved to feel the hard knot in his chest easing with the first drag.

Leaning on the railing around the patio, he stared at nothing, not seeing the street below him. He could see where Hermione got it from; both her parents were as tenacious as pit bulls. He could hear raised voices from inside the house now and resolutely tried not to listen; Hermione was likely to let loose some quite personal information in her attempt to shock them into behaving, and he would rather not know. _Why did I ever agree to this? _He almost choked on his cigarette trying not to laugh; he hadn't _agreed _to anything. It had been his idea in the first place. And he knew exactly why he'd done it.

He was well aware of all the shortcomings of his tangled personality, including all the little-known aspects he kept hidden from everyone else; and he had known since he was very young that he was, underneath it all, desperately clingy and dependent and terrified of losing anyone close to him. He had allowed Lily to criticise almost everything about him and dictate everything about their friendship just so she would stay his friend. He'd let Albus treat him like dirt and less than dirt because at least in the Order he had a place, a role, something that let him believe he belonged. He had let Voldemort (he could at least think the name inside his own head) torture him to the brink of insanity or death many times over for exactly the same reason. He had even tolerated his father's abuse and his mother's neglect because of it.

Hermione had been right; he did accept pain and misery when he received no benefit. And never more so than with her; he'd known he was in deep trouble the first time she'd made eye contact and smiled and told him she wanted to come back and talk to him some more. If he was brutally honest, that was one of the main reasons he had agreed to return to Hogwarts; he had missed the castle, but not the people, and he certainly hadn't missed teaching. He'd gone back for the sake of that blasted woman's smile, because he'd always been easy meat for anyone who showed him any form of kindness whatsoever. The sole bright point was that nobody had realised that the key to his soul was something so simple; neither of his masters had ever realised why he did what he did.

That was why he was standing here now and letting two Muggles pick at his past and dig up all the unpleasant things he tried not to think about, even though he considered that they had absolutely no right to do so and even though it was bothering him to answer their questions. Because he knew what it meant to Hermione, and if he'd been in trouble from the first time she'd smiled at him, he'd been absolutely and hopelessly lost... when? He wasn't quite sure. There had been so many incidents, most small enough that she probably had no idea of the significance, times when he had been stunned to realise that against all expectation she actually seemed to understand him and wasn't horrified by it.

Taking another drag on the cigarette and relaxing as it took effect, he recalled how much it had hurt to realise that she didn't blame him for anything he had done; he knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but she thought he did. It was horribly confusing, trying to adjust to this new idea that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't complete and utter scum after all. Fifty years, and nobody had ever really treated him as simply human. Even now, when they had been together for a year, he didn't really know what the hell he was doing.

He hoped she never found out just how dependent he had become. He had told her only a few weeks ago that even for her there were things he wouldn't do; one of the few times he had told her an outright lie. To keep this – whatever _this _was – he couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do. So he would sit here and let her parents call him a murderer, and he would answer them honestly. And when Hermione dared to raise the subject, he would allow himself to be dragged off to see her friends, to face all his old ghosts even though he never, ever wanted to see Potter and his _bloody _eyes ever again. He would do whatever it took to keep her in his life. Maybe it wasn't healthy, but he was psychologically closer to 'normal' than he had been at any point since before his adolescence, so he'd allow himself one hopeless and dangerous obsession – and it wasn't as if he could change how he felt anyway. He had never been the inconstant type.

The raised voices inside the house went up a few notches; he listened to the snatches of shouting from beyond the glass doors and couldn't quite stop the smile. His hellcat was in full attack mode; he really enjoyed listening to her glorious temper, even if it was directed at him, which it frequently was. Half the time, he deliberately provoked her just to watch the fireworks, because she was gorgeous when she was angry, her brown eyes flashing and her voice almost growling. And watching that wondrous, terrifying wrath being directed at someone else on his behalf, watching his powerful Gryffindor lioness defending him... it was the best feeling in the world. Nobody had ever really stood up for him and tried to protect him before, not properly.

_I'm in about as deep as it gets, _he told himself, not for the first time. It didn't bother him. It terrified him, admittedly, and when it all fell apart he suspected it would break him badly enough that he would never recover, but... it didn't bother him. The insufferable know-it-all had bound him and chained him so thoroughly that Albus and Voldemort would both have bowed to her in admiration, and he was no stranger to the bonds of slavery, but he had never once tried to fight this. He suspected his subconscious had finally had enough of him fucking up his own life, when everyone else had been so happy to do it for him.

Aware that these thoughts were not like him, he stubbed out the cigarette and made a mental note to warn her about testing the dosage next time she felt like drugging him. Also aware that he wasn't very calm yet and was still fighting the urge to seize his wand and start lashing out, he closed his eyes and brought up a composite memory from his mind.

After the night when he'd been unable to summon his Patronus to let Hermione know that he wasn't suicidal or blind drunk or anything else, he had gone back to his early Occlumency training and carefully crafted a number of composite memories with specific triggers attached. The technique had allowed him to almost completely block near-fatal levels of pain and high enough levels of fear to make anyone else piss themselves in terror; it had also helped him resist any mental probe thrown at him, no matter how strong. And, as he had found out, it would allow him to create a happy memory powerful enough to let him conjure his Patronus with more ease than he had ever known with this spell, which was handy now because it would help chase away the dangerous anger lurking just below the surface.

His previous stock happy memory – sadly probably the only truly happy memory he had possessed – was of the day he'd got his Hogwarts letter. The absolute joy of knowing he was free had been almost euphoric, and for once both his parents had been sober, happy and interested. The memory itself was fine, it had allowed him to cast a Patronus successfully for decades, but he'd been eleven at the time and after four decades of hell the shine had rather worn off. Besides, Hogwarts hadn't exactly been the paradise he had dreamed of. When assembling the composite memory, he'd been rather more careful.

Severus let the images drift in front of his eyes, mostly quick split-second flashes. Her lips pressed to the Dark Mark on his arm, the first time they were together, when she had shown such complete acceptance of who he was. The Astronomy Tower, the first time in many years that he had felt the warmth of another human body against his own, and the virtually unknown and startling realisation that someone was looking to him for comfort. That blasted cat, steadfastly ignoring his order to leave, jumping into his lap and starting to purr. Looking down into her eyes as they made love and hearing her voice whisper his name as he moved inside her. Sunlight on bluebells, and her head resting on his thigh as his fingers wove the bright fragrant flowers into her utterly impossible hair. The hauntingly beautiful music at the carol service, and the warmth of her hand in his. Holding up the yin-yang necklace just before he'd put it on for the first time. Reading in front of the fire with his arm around her, and her head resting on his shoulder. Waking in the night and feeling her curled up in his arms.

Opening his eyes, he shook his head a little, rueful amusement chasing away the last of his black mood. Somewhere, somehow, his life had become incredibly strange. He strongly suspected that he was never again going to know exactly what was going on, not as long as this lasted, and when it ended he didn't think his sanity would survive yet another loss so it wouldn't matter. He could endure a few more hours. Compared to everything that had gone before, this was nothing, and he knew that nothing was free – he'd paid far higher prices for far less reward.

* * *

Hermione opened the patio door and padded out into the sunlight, watching Severus warily until he turned and glanced at her mildly. The cigarette had been stubbed out half-smoked, but he looked calm enough. Joining him at the railing, she leaned against his shoulder. "Better?"

"You got the dose wrong, I think," he answered softly. "I'm going to have a splendid headache."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It took the edge off, enough for me to calm myself down. I've used far more dangerous drugs for the same reason." He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled, and looked down at her. "It's all right, Hermione," he told her more quietly. "I would prefer that they had not phrased some of their questions quite so roughly, but... it's all right. I do not object to the questions, as such."

"But I do," she replied softly. "They lost the right to be this protective of me when they told me to leave and not come back." She sighed. "Are you really okay with this?"

"This is something of a trial run," he answered pensively, turning back to look out on the sunny street. "Much of the truth is going to come out, if our ideas lead anywhere. These questions will be asked, repeatedly. This is helping me to work out what I can talk about and what I do not wish to say. There are things I will not speak of, even to you; I know how far I can be pushed. I will be all right."

"I'm still sorry."

"Gryffindor," he murmured, a hint of that smile softening his eyes fractionally as he glanced down at her. "This was my suggestion, if you recall. I did imagine that they would ask a few questions."

"Just remember that you don't _have_ to do this," she told him softly, meeting his eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget that you have more choices these days." Something in his eyes suggested that she might have scored a point there, but he said nothing in response, merely nodded slightly. His expression altered when the sound of the door opening reached them, hardening slightly, and she realised her words had struck home perhaps more forcefully than she had intended; by the look of things, he didn't intend to be quite so tolerant now.

"Severus, please accept our apologies," her mother said quietly.

He turned around and regarded them both with very little expression, and his voice held something of the cool note of Professor Snape as he replied crisply, "Your concern is forgivable. Your presumption is not." His tone softened. "I do not object to your questioning me, Doctor Granger, but I do object to your insulting me."

Her parents did at least have the decency to look ashamed. "We are genuinely sorry," her father offered after a moment. "But all parents have hopes and dreams for their children... and with all due respect, Severus..."

"I am not what you imagined," Severus filled in, his voice dry. "Quite understandable." After a tense moment, he moved back to the table and took his seat once more, and the others followed suit. Severus looked thoughtfully into his empty coffee cup, evidently thinking hard, and finally looked up once more. "Perhaps this might go better if I were to tell you a little about myself, first," he said slowly. His black eyes slid slightly out of focus and he appeared to be looking at something only he could see; Hermione was used to that, but it could be a little unnerving if you didn't know him.

"I come from a lower-class Northern background," he began finally. "I was born in a poverty-stricken area of urban industrial Lancashire. My father was a Muggle and we lived as such; I live mostly as a Muggle now and I am closer to your culture than the wizarding world. I did not have a particularly happy childhood, and once I came to Hogwarts I had various problems. I was not particularly well adjusted, and when I left school, I joined the Death Eaters." He slowly undid his shirt cuff and rolled it back to expose the faded snake and skull. "This is the Dark Mark. It brands me forever as a follower of the Dark Lord."

"Voldemort," Hermione supplied in an undertone to her parents, aware that in Severus' current mood he couldn't hear her and wouldn't hear anything until he had finished speaking. "He can't say the name because of the Mark."

Severus continued in the same slow and distant voice, "There are many reasons why I joined him; many excuses I could make. And I truly did not understand what it involved. But I joined of my own free will, knowing that it would be unpleasant." He slowly traced the outline of the skull, following the line of the snake with one finger. "Act in haste, repent at leisure. I should not have done it, but at the time I felt that I had few options and that this one was better than the others. I was eighteen and a half when I joined; I was barely nineteen when I began to truly regret it and start looking for a way out, but my pride was stronger than my regret. Stronger than anything else until I realised that I had endangered someone I cared for; Hermione has told you enough of that story, I will not repeat it.

"I changed sides. It changed very little about my life. I was still forced to answer the summons of my master, and he still made me do terrible things. I have killed many people. I have tortured many people. I have betrayed many people. I am assured by someone in a position to know that by doing so, I managed to allow more to be saved, that I helped more than I harmed. I do not know if that is true. I would like to think it is, but I'm not sure that makes it better.

"The first war is irrelevant to this conversation; it ended when your daughter was an infant. I first met Hermione aged eleven, and she was..." He paused, and his eyes softened slightly, and Hermione knew he was going to be nasty. "Spectacularly irritating," he finished, his lips twitching. "Very intelligent, and she knew it. Desperate to impress, to make her mark in this new world. That is an attitude I can understand, but the fact remains that she was... very, very annoying. She tried far too hard to win my approval, as she did with all her teachers; it was absolutely the wrong approach to use with me. In addition, I was Head of a House containing the sons and daughters of Death Eaters, at a time when we believed that the Dark Lord's return was imminent; I could not show any favour to a Muggleborn, even if she had managed to be less irritating. And then she became friends with the one boy I truly hated – unfairly so, but that does not change it.

"Hermione and her two little friends caused the Hogwarts staff more grief than any others, simply because of their penchant for getting into trouble and Potter's unfortunate tendency to keep encountering shadows of the Dark Lord. And while I taught her, that is all she meant to me – a student who kept finding dangerous situations, who had abysmal taste in friends, who was extremely annoying and who was nonetheless intelligent.

"When the second war began, I simply did not have time to pay much heed to any of my students. My work as a spy took up all my free time, and... I was suffering considerably. I sustained a great many injuries – the Dark Lord was frankly insane by then and spent a lot of time torturing his followers apparently at random. I was the only one attempting to hold a full-time job at the same time. It simply wasn't possible. I was peripherally aware of Hermione's involvement – mostly unofficial – but when I thought of her at all it was as an adjunct to Potter, who seemed to be going out of his way to make my life difficult, even if he didn't know it.

"The war ended. I did not expect to survive it and I am still not entirely certain how I did. I fled and went into hiding, even though I had given Potter enough – more than enough – information to clear my name. I didn't care if I was found innocent or not; I simply could not bear to stay. I just wanted to escape and leave the wizarding world behind, and I did not plan to return.

"I wandered all over the world, and while I did so, I underwent... I don't know how to describe it," he said thoughtfully, frowning slightly as he continued staring at whatever was in front of his eyes. "Not a breakdown, per se. A... reorganisation, perhaps? I had time to think about all the subjects I had to avoid considering before in order to do my job. I had time to deal with a lot of the – 'emotional baggage' is the phrase, I believe, or 'old ghosts', or whatever cliché you feel appropriate. Continuing with the clichés, I wiped the slate clean, if you will. I came to terms with everything that had happened and became something approaching a normal human being," he added with a faintly ironic sneer.

"And in doing so, I neatly shot myself in the foot. I had been functioning as 'barely human' for a long time, distancing myself from everything so that I could focus on what needed to be done and prevent myself from becoming a total psychopath. Once I progressed back to sanity, I became terribly lonely, and I was still injured. I returned to England and began trying to find a way back to the wizarding world and the only life I had ever known. I met Hermione again – that was not what I had planned, but in hindsight nobody else had both the intelligence to find me and the compassion to try and help. We had both changed considerably since the end of the war, and we found some common ground..."

He trailed off and fell silent, staring pensively at nothing for a little while longer as his eyes slowly came back into focus and sharpened. Unthinkingly tilting his head so that his hair swung forward, he glanced somewhat uncertainly around the table through the black curtains, and the silence grew oppressive. Hermione gave him a reassuring smile and looked at her parents, who were alternating between glancing at Severus and looking at one another.

Finally her mother broke the silence, quietly. "Thank you for telling us."

"This obviously isn't easy to talk about," her father added.

Severus grew fractionally less tense and sat back in his chair, shaking his hair out of his eyes once more. "No," he agreed softly, "but you should know something of me, given the circumstances. I assume you have questions; I will answer them honestly, if I can."

"Of course they have questions," Hermione said dryly, deciding to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible under the circumstances. "It's a family trait." His lips twitched, but he said nothing, apparently determined to behave himself.

Her father chuckled. "'Spectacularly irritating', eh? Not your best school report, dear."

"Actually that's quite a restrained description," Hermione conceded, smiling when Severus looked at her. "He's right, it was absolutely the wrong approach to use with him. The other teachers liked the kind of student who was enthusiastic, who always tried to answer questions, who did far more than was required; Severus didn't. I was extremely annoying."

"'Was'?" Severus muttered under his breath, before tensing slightly, apparently not having meant to say it out loud. Hermione mock-glared at him but let him see her smile, letting him know it was okay to tease a little. Her parents were suppressing smiles.

Her mother's first question was a little unexpected. "What sort of – of wizard are you, Severus? I mean, what sort of things can you do? We – we don't know very much about magic, even now."

Severus blinked at her; evidently this was a question he hadn't prepared for. After a moment he took a breath and replied slowly, "The majority of wizards and witches are either very strong, or very skilled. The powerful tend to generalise and have some ability with most aspects of magic; the skilled tend to specialise. I am... somewhere in the middle..."

Hermione chipped in, having just thought of a good analogy to explain it. "It's like being either a heavyweight boxer or a martial arts master. Severus is basically a brawler with a black belt."

He snorted softly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Thank you for that," he said dryly, and she grinned at him. "_Anyway,_" he said pointedly, returning his attention to her mother, "I am considered powerful. My skills are in combat magic, both offensive and defensive, and in what is melodramatically referred to as the Dark Arts, which we attempted to speak of earlier. I am good at both casting and countering hexes and curses. I am also very skilled in brewing potions, hence my job. But my main area of expertise is Occlumency and Legilimency – mind magic."

"These are not the droids you are looking for?" her father suggested, and Hermione stifled a laugh as she caught Severus' eye, seeing the sudden humour glimmering in the black stare.

"Not quite," he replied, relaxing a little and starting to sound more human. "There are charms that can imitate Jedi mind tricks, but that is not true Legilimency. The closest Muggle analogy is 'mind reading', but I dislike the phrase because it isn't entirely accurate. Legilimency is mainly the art of viewing memories; a powerful Legilimens can also pick up emotions, and thoughts if the other person concentrates hard enough. It is a means of passing information quickly and silently; it is also possible to communicate telepathically, but only through sustained eye contact, not over a distance. Occlumency is the art of shielding the mind against intrusion, of hiding memories and thoughts and suppressing emotions; it has many similarities to a number of meditation techniques and can also be used to block pain and fear. It is what allowed me to keep functioning throughout the war and it allowed me to lie to the Dark Lord, who was a very powerful if crude Legilimens."

"Crude?"

He nodded. "He smashed his way into his victim's mind, rifled through their thoughts until he found what he wanted, then dragged himself out; the process was both painful and traumatic. A skilled Legilimens can accomplish the same thing virtually undetected and without damaging the victim."

"Could you do that to us, now, without our knowing?"

Severus blinked slowly, not taking offense. "I do not know. If you were wizards, then no – I am good, but not that good; I am a far better Occlumens than Legilimens. I have never tried to perform Legilimency against a Muggle; I do not know if you would sense it or not."

"I'm sorry to ask..."

He waved a hand. "Don't be. Interestingly, Hermione herself has asked the same question of me." His lips twitched into a half-smile almost devoid of bitterness. "I am not easy to trust, after all. And it is natural that you would have misgivings about mental magic," he added, carefully and with surprising delicacy.

"Is this Legilimency what happened to us?"

Severus looked thoughtful. "In part, yes," he assessed slowly. "What Hermione did is... impressive, and complex. It was partly a powerful memory charm, to block your true memories, but she used Legilimency to write in new ones. Very few could have done it." His eyes flicked rapidly from face to face and narrowed. "Magic is as much about intention as power," he said, speaking quickly. "You cannot cast most spells unless you truly mean them. The intent behind a spell is what separates dark magic from light. What Hermione did to you was not of the Dark Arts simply because she did it purely to save your lives. You would have died horribly if she hadn't; I assure you, I am in a position to know – I might well have been involved. Had her motives been less than pure she would have destroyed your true memories, not overwritten them; reversing the spell would have left you mindless vegetables."

Hermione felt ill. "I didn't know that," she whispered, and Severus touched her hand.

"You didn't need to know. The only way you could have known was by researching the Dark Arts, which you would not have done even had it been possible."

"But..."

His hand tightened on hers until his grip was almost painful. "Hermione, stop this," he said sternly. "You cannot use pure Dark Magic by accident. You have to truly mean it. There was no chance of you doing anything evil; you don't have it in you." Staring into his eyes, she hesitated, but if anyone knew about this it was Severus, and she knew he meant every word. Blinking, she nodded slowly, and glanced hesitantly at her parents.

"I'm sorry, love," her mother said softly, wiping her eyes. "We don't mean to be cruel, but this isn't our world. We just want to understand."

"It's okay," she managed, sitting back and gently squeezing Severus' hand, and finding that it really was okay.

Severus spoke again, his voice surprisingly gentle for him. "Muggleborns have a very difficult time assimilating into the magical world, partly for the difference between the two cultures and partly because of the family left behind. Almost all families fight sooner or later, and it is always painful. These circumstances were far worse than usual, but there was no other choice. Hermione is Muggleborn and she is Harry Potter's friend; those two facts made you both targets from the moment the Dark Lord returned. Her magic saved your lives; and I don't know anyone else who could have done it."

"Is Hermione a good Legilimens, then?"

"No. She could be, with practice, perhaps, but I don't think it likely. But she is intelligent and methodical and cautious, and she loves you both enough to compromise herself and do something she thought might be wrong, without being reckless." Squeezing her hand again, he let go and settled back in his chair. "Hermione's strengths lie in more subtle magic, charms and wards, or Healing; complex spells that take time. I am better at the instinctive, quick spells such as combative magic."

"Ironic, really, given that he has far more patience than I do," Hermione filled in, smiling at Severus. "Just thought I'd save you the trouble of saying it."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Where magic is concerned, you can be patient; as long as books are not involved, at least."

Both her parents laughed softly. "He does know you, doesn't he?" her father commented.

"I wanted to ask about your tattoo, Severus," her mother said, looking at his arm where his sleeve was still rolled back. "You say it marks you as a – a Death Eater?"

He nodded slowly, looking down at the faded mark. "It isn't precisely a tattoo. It is more of a curse scar. It has several magical properties; the Dark Lord used it to summon his followers. It allowed us to Apparate directly to him."

"Apparate – that's teleporting, isn't it?"

"In essence, yes," Severus agreed. He tapped his arm with a finger. "The Mark formed a link between us, and we could follow that link to get to him when he made it burn to call us." He paused, and then said casually, "I'm the only one left alive who bears the Mark, aren't I, Hermione?"

She blinked, caught off guard, and swallowed as he looked at her. "Yes," she admitted softly. "I wasn't sure if you knew."

"I didn't, not precisely," he replied quietly. "I guessed. With the Dark Lord gone, the links lacked a focal point and formed a kind of web, giving us an awareness of one another – not enough to sense individuals or anything of that nature, but enough that I could sense it when someone who bore the Dark Mark died. After a while I stopped sensing that, so I assumed everyone who had been sentenced had been executed. Did anyone survive?"

"The Malfoys escaped a death sentence," she said very quietly, "but..." She sighed. "Lucius overpowered one of their guards one night and took his wand. He killed Narcissa and Draco, and then himself. They were the last."

Severus nodded grimly. "Somehow, I am not entirely surprised. There was no place in the new world for Lucius, and Narcissa actually had the remnants of a conscience; I don't think she would have wanted to survive. As for Draco, he had every chance. In the end, he wasn't strong enough. He made the wrong choice when it came to it."

"You don't seem... saddened," her mother said carefully.

He shrugged. "They were not my friends. I was the only member of the inner circle who was not a pure-blood, and they all saw me as lesser. We were all ordered to abuse one another in some manner over the years, and some took more pleasure in it than others."

"Given what the Mark represents... why haven't you removed it?"

His fingers traced the skull and snake again. "Do you see the scars that run behind it? I took a knife to my arm and tried to cut through the Mark once. I cut clear down to the bone; the Mark goes right the way down. Short of amputating my arm, I do not know if there is any way to remove it. In addition, I am known as a Death Eater; I have admitted it publicly, so I see little point in hiding it. I want the reminder. And I have used its presence to make a point on several occasions; as more is written about the war, it may yet come in useful."

"I see. Thank you."

"Is that all the questions for today?" Hermione asked lightly.

"Not quite," her father said thoughtfully, turning and making eye contact with Severus. When he spoke again, it was in rapid French. "_Vous savez ce que nous voulons vraiment vous demander_."

Severus stilled in the way he had that wasn't quite tension but certainly wasn't relaxed, returning her father's stare. "_Oui._"

"Well?"

After a long pause, he replied quietly, "_Elle m'a sauvé. Elle est... tout. Je peux à peine y croire _." Hermione tried in vain to follow the French, but both he and her father were speaking too rapidly and their accents were too good. It wasn't much of a stretch to guess that the 'elle' in this case was her, but the rest escaped her.

"_La protègerez-vous?_"

"_Je doute qu'elle ait besoin de moi pour ca ._"

"_Êtes-vous assez bon pour elle_?" her mother asked.

Severus actually laughed softly. "_Non! Mais ce n'est pas mon choix. Elle est très têtue_," he added, glancing at Hermione with quiet amusement in his eyes.

Her parents exchanged glances, half-smiling. Finally her father nodded, and her mother turned back to Severus. "_Prennez soin d'elle _."

"_Je mourrais pour elle_," Severus replied calmly.

"I hate you all," Hermione informed them, frustrated. "It's really rude to do that. You all know I don't speak French well enough to follow that, which means that whatever you said, I'm going to hate."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, dear," her mother remarked, smiling.

"You're not going to tell me, are you," she said resignedly, and her parents shook their heads, smiling at her. Shaking her head, she looked at Severus. "You're not going to either, are you."

"If I wanted you to know, I would have said it in English," he informed her mildly. "I didn't say anything you don't already know, in any case."

"Then why hide it?"

"Because I can?"

"Git."

He gave her a mocking half-smile. "_Oui._"

"Well, now that's all settled," her mother said brightly, "what are your plans? Have you booked into a hotel?"

Resisting the urge to sulk and desperately wanting to know what had been said earlier, Hermione sighed and followed the change of subject. "No, not yet. We didn't know how long we would be here."

"You mean you weren't sure whether you'd be leaving five minutes after you got here?" her father asked shrewdly. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"Where did you stop on the way down?"

"Orleans," Severus provided, rolling his shirtsleeves back down and doing up his cuffs once more. "I don't know where we will stop tomorrow, but the night after that I had thought we might spend in Paris," he added unexpectedly, and Hermione tried not to gape at him; that was the first she had heard of it.

"That sounds lovely," her mother replied enthusiastically. "For tonight, though, I think I'm going to have to insist that you stay here. Please."

Hermione looked at Severus; he gave her mild eyes and a slight shrug, indicating that it was up to her. Searching his dark gaze, she concluded that although he would be happier elsewhere, he didn't truly object, and she had to admit she would like to spend as much time as possible here before they left. "If that's all right with Severus, then that sounds good..."

He nodded. "I will need to go and fetch the car. I could use the chance to stretch my legs in any case. I won't be long."

* * *

"That was a bit of an abrupt departure," Hermione's mother commented as she washed up their coffee cups.

Hermione smiled. "He needed to catch his breath. You have no idea what it probably cost Severus to sit and have that conversation; he is _so _not a social person. That was more talking in the past couple of hours than he usually does in a month, outside of delivering lectures to his classes. He doesn't like meeting strangers and he doesn't like discussing personal matters or talking about his past. Unless you think of any really important questions, it would be better to leave him alone for the rest of the evening and just let him sit and listen."

"With you and your mother in the same room, Hermione, no man could possibly get a word in if he wanted to," her father replied playfully.

"Funny, Dad." She finished drying the cup her mother handed her. "Oh, stop it, both of you. You're being unfair. Tell me what you think of him."

Her parents exchanged glances again before her mother answered slowly, "He's a bit of an odd one, isn't he? Your gran would have said he has hidden depths. Very, very complicated. I admit I was a bit worried at first – there's something cold about him. But we saw he has a sense of humour, and after the way we spoke to him initially I thought he would lose his temper, but he didn't. He was honest, too – and I understand what you meant about being careful what we asked in case we didn't want to hear the answer."

"The coldness is mostly an act," Hermione said. "He's always very careful and formal in a new situation until he's worked out what's going on and decided how he wants to behave."

"His bark is worse than his bite, is that it?"

"Oh, no. Definitely not that. When he has to be, Severus is very dangerous. Now that Voldemort and Dumbledore are both dead, he's definitely the most powerful wizard I know, probably one of the most powerful alive. His bite is definitely worse than his bark – he snipes and snarks at people all the time; it's when he stops that you know you're in trouble. You have no idea how much he is behaving himself – when he wants to be intimidating, he's scary."

"You're selling him very well," her mother remarked dryly.

Hermione smiled again. "He's not scary to me. Even when I was his student and he didn't like me, I only ever saw him being dangerous when he was protecting us, and if he was being intimidating then we usually deserved it. And now, he doesn't behave like that around me. He's actually very sweet and gentle sometimes." _Not that anyone else ever believes me when I tell them that._

"Only sometimes?"

"Mum, stop it," she chided softly. "I don't need coddling. When he does sweet things, it means more because it's rare. He's always been a snarky git – I tell him frequently – and that's just who he is. I wouldn't want it any other way." She looked across the kitchen. "What did you think, Dad?"

Her father looked thoughtful. "I agree with your mother – he's complicated. I get the feeling we could have long conversations like the one we've just had every day for a month and we wouldn't know any more about him. He's been through a lot, and it shows, but... Well, he certainly knows you very well, love, and he's the first person I've ever met who I think might be smart enough to keep up with you. And he obviously cares for you. Does he make you happy?"

She nodded, smiling. "Very much so."

"All right, then."

This was followed by a group hug that would have both amused and appalled Severus had he witnessed it, before Hermione smiled and looked at her parents. "And remember what I said in my last letter – absolutely _no _mention of weddings or grandchildren, directly or indirectly, in any language. I've never wanted children and you know it's physically impossible now, and I explained why we're very unlikely to get married at any point."

"I'm too young to be a grandmother, and if I live to 97 I'll still be too young to be a grandmother."

"We promised to behave."

"Yes, and look where that got us." Hermione shook her head. "I'm amazed Severus let you get away with it."

"We were worried for you, that's all."

"I know, and so does he." She sighed, before smiling. "It's okay. I'm just so relieved – this has gone so much better than I thought it would. I really wanted you to approve of him."

"It's not our place to approve or not any more, love," her father said quietly. "Your life is your own now."

"We don't disapprove," her mother added. "Severus is – not the type of man we always hoped you'd end up with, as you said in one of your letters, but... you've grown up, my dear. You aren't our little girl any more, and if he works with your new life then we don't have the right to interfere."

* * *

_We're not done with France yet by any means..._


	33. Chapter 33

_Ah, fluff.__  
_

* * *

**"****Through every page we turn**  
**Each lesson that we've learned **  
**Will finally set us free or bring us to our knees**  
**But love is right and never wrong** .**"**  
– Michael Bolton, 'All For Love'.

* * *

"I can hear the jeep now."

"He's been gone a very long time."

Hermione smiled. "If he'd come back any earlier I would have sent him back out again; if he stayed away this long, it's because he needed to. He has good manners and he's good at acting, but trust me on this, he is beyond socially inept most of the time. He doesn't like people, full stop – well, except for me, anyway, and on his really bad days even I'm too much sometimes," she added cheerfully.

She studied Severus closely when he came in with their bags; he was quiet and not quite making eye contact, but he seemed calm enough. "Is the bedroom ready, Mum?" she asked.

Her mother's smile faded slightly. "Well, yes... but... there is only a single bed."

Hermione blinked; she'd explored the house earlier. "No, there isn't."

The smile faded completely as her mother made direct eye contact. "Yes," she said pointedly, "there is."

Exasperated, Hermione shook her head. "It's a bit late to be worrying about my virtue now, Mum. I'll be thirty one in September, and Severus and I have been involved for a year." When her mother's expression didn't alter, she appealed to her father. "Dad?"

"It's your mother's house, and her rules apply."

Severus' face was as expressionless as ever, but his black eyes were gleaming and Hermione suspected it was taking a lot of effort for him to restrain himself from open mockery; he evidently found the notion ridiculous, and she almost wished he would be bold enough to say so. Instead he said neutrally, "The sofa will be fine," and suited the action to the word by putting his bag down and carrying hers towards the stairs.

She followed him out of the room. "Severus?"

"It's fine. Absurd, but fine." He glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Has your mother always been so old-fashioned?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I've never brought anyone home to stay the night. You really don't mind?"

He shrugged. "I won't sleep anyway, not in a strange place with people I don't know, especially after all the conversation earlier. Besides, sharing a bed in your parents' house is a little... tacky."

"Well, I wasn't planning on ripping my clothes off and begging you to ravish me tonight," she told him dryly, and mock-glared in response to his smirk. "It's just... today's been pretty stressful for both of us. I just wanted to curl up in your arms and not think. Do you remember the last time we spent a night apart?"

He blinked, slowly. "...Now that you mention it, no, not really; shortly before Christmas, I suppose."

"Yes, more than six months ago," she agreed quietly as he put her bag down on what was manifestly a double bed. "I've got used to sleeping next to you."

Severus looked down, then around the room as though seeking inspiration. "I would prefer we weren't separated either," he admitted quietly, before glancing at her through the curtains of his hair. "But it is only for one night. After all the progress that has been made today, do you really want to start an argument and storm out now, over this?"

Hermione sighed, giving in. "No, you're right, I don't. And it is just for tonight." She looked at him and offered a small smile. "Really, Paris?"

"If you want to."

"It sounds lovely. I've only been once before."

"Paris, then." He straightened and shook his hair back from his face before giving her a credible sneer. "Now don't tell me you have become so dependent that you cannot bear a few hours away from me? That could prove irritating, not to mention inconvenient."

Relenting, she smiled at him. "Tough luck, Slytherin. You'll just have to put up with it. Come on, let's go Transfigure the sofa into something you can actually sleep on without tying your spine in a knot. You've got a lot of driving to do over the next two days."

* * *

As she had predicted, Hermione found it impossible to sleep; there were too many thoughts filling her mind. Finally in the middle of the night she got up and crept downstairs, padding silently into the living room. Just enough light filtered around the curtains to let her avoid the furniture, and she made her way to the sofa and looked down. Severus returned her gaze calmly; he lay stretched out on his back with his arms folded behind his head.

"Have you slept at all?" she whispered, already knowing the answer.

"No. Have you?"

"No." She moved around the sofa. "Shift and let me sit down, or I'll sit on you."

"That's not much of an incentive," he observed dryly, his lips twitching. Smiling slightly, he sat up and moved obediently, and she settled down next to him. "How are you feeling?"

She thought about it. "I'm not really sure," she admitted after a moment. "It's all a little strange. They aren't really the people I remember. But except for the row, it's gone really well. I think I'm mostly happy. I still feel guilty about dragging you through this, though – and yes, I know it was your suggestion."

He snorted softly and slid an arm around her shoulders. "Foolish Gryffindor," he murmured in a surprisingly gentle tone. "It really isn't as bad as you think. They knew nothing about me save what you told them; I wasn't fighting to overcome old prejudices. They are allowed to be worried for you, up to a point. And they are nice enough people."

"But 'nice', coming from you, is generally an insult," Hermione murmured back, smiling.

"Hmph. Not all the time," Severus replied wryly. "Today has hardly been fun, but it was not unpleasant, as such; certainly I have endured far worse. In addition, I am a grown man. Stop worrying about me."

"Never." Resting her head on his shoulder, she began idly playing with his necklace. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"Which part?" he asked in a rather guarded tone, and she made a mental note to analyse the memory later when they were back home and try and work out what the hell he had said to her parents. Certainly there was absolutely no chance that he would simply tell her.

"About not being able to use dark magic by accident," she clarified now.

"Yes."

"But... in sixth year, Harry used your slicing hex on Malfoy, when he didn't know what it did. Does that mean it wasn't dark magic?"

"No, it is. I regret not destroying all mention of it and I regret every time I have ever used it – even against the Marauders. Potter did not know the exact effect, but the spell was clearly labelled 'for enemies'; he knew it did something unpleasant. He meant to hurt Draco. He did not mean to cause as much damage as he did, but the intention was enough. The situation was nothing like yours."

She thought about this for a while, leaning against his shoulder with her eyes closed, and finally said very quietly, "Thank you, Severus."

He didn't answer, which she had expected. After a moment he murmured softly, "If I 'accidentally' hex our chaperone when she reaches the doorway, will you be angry?"

Hermione sighed, hearing the faint creak of a stair. "Yes. Leave your wand where it is." She picked up her own wand and waited until the door was eased open a fraction. "_Lumos,_" she said wearily, blinking in the bright light that helpfully revealed that both she and Severus were fully dressed – albeit in pyjamas, purchased for the occasion since they seldom wore anything to bed normally – and sitting quietly on the sofa as she gave her mother a level look. "See, Mum? We're just talking. No lewd and wanton acts of debauchery, I promise."

"Not even if I ask nicely?" Severus whispered in her ear, and she dug her elbow into his ribs by way of rebuke, smothering a smile; it was best not to encourage him.

"Oh, Hermione, I didn't know you were down here," her mother said unconvincingly, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light and summoning a smile. "I just wanted to make sure Severus was all right."

"Of course you did," Hermione replied sceptically, trying not to laugh.

"The gesture would have been – I'm sorry, _is _appreciated," Severus remarked in a tone of polite disbelief, "but it was not a good idea. I am sure Hermione has mentioned my tendency towards paranoia; had I been startled awake by someone I did not immediately recognise, I might have done something regrettable." He paused, apparently considering, before adding pointedly, "And if we were... up to something... I assure you, we would have ensured privacy magically first."

"All right, all right," she surrendered. "I know when I'm beaten. I'll go back to bed. Hermione?"

Sighing heavily, Hermione reluctantly stood up, smiling a little as Severus chuckled softly. "I'm coming," she groused. "You're being unfair, though. I'm surely allowed to _talk _to him."

"Not at three in the morning, you're not. Bed, miss. Good night, Severus."

"Good night."

* * *

They left the next morning, not long after breakfast; Hermione was more relieved than otherwise to be leaving. Meeting her parents again had been wonderful, and their tacit almost-acceptance of her man was equally wondrous, and that was just it; it had gone so well that she wanted to get out of there before something went wrong. It was, she considered, not dissimilar to the early days of her relationship with Severus.

Severus himself was apparently content to let her brood in silence as he navigated the winding roads in between trying to find a half-way decent radio station. He had been quiet all morning, which was hardly surprising. Whatever he said, she knew it had hurt him to have to rake up the war again, when he had spent most of the past decade trying to forget it, and he had never liked being judged by strangers – or by anyone, come to that.

"Severus," she said finally, unable to stand it any more, "can you pull over, please?"

He blinked and glanced at her questioningly, but obediently flicked the indicator and swerved the old jeep onto the verge. She was undoing her seatbelt before he'd stopped, and barely waited for him to put on the handbrake before practically lunging across the seat and kissing him fiercely.

After a startled attempt at protesting – one she doubted would have held any sincerity whatsoever – he responded in kind, tangling one hand in her hair and sliding the other down her back as she managed to straddle his lap, narrowly avoiding getting tangled with the gearstick. Finally she drew back a little, panting slightly, and looked him in the eyes. "Thank you."

Licking his lips and looking somewhat mussed, Severus raised an eyebrow at her. "We have had this conversation a number of times," he pointed out, before tilting his head thoughtfully. "Not quite this... emphatically, I admit," he added with a trace of a smile in his dark eyes.

"And we'll keep having this conversation until you give in, Severus Snape," she told him tartly. "Whatever you might say, I know you've hated the last couple of days and I know you did it just to make me happy. I'm allowed to thank you for that, and you're damned well going to put up with it gracefully. Do I make myself clear?"

Admittedly, it was difficult to pull off dignified irritation when she was sitting in his lap and could taste his kiss on her tongue, but that was no excuse for him to be laughing at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes and did her best to glare at him, which only made him laugh harder. Slouching back in his seat, he raised his hands in surrender, his black eyes sparkling. "Very clear. I give up; you win. Please, do continue... _thanking... _me. At length."

She tried to hold the glare, but finally gave in and laughed, leaning in and kissing him lightly before starting to climb back to her own seat. "I don't know what the public indecency laws are in France, and I'm not particularly anxious to find out. Behave yourself."

"I'm not the one who nearly caused a car crash," he protested, smiling.

"I did no such thing. I waited until the brake was on. Stop exaggerating; it's very Gryffindor of you."

"Don't be insulting." He shifted in his seat and reached for the bottle of water in the door well, taking a drink before passing it to her. "Was it really sensible to do this now, when I am supposed to be concentrating on driving for the rest of the day?" he asked, giving her a mildly reproachful look. "Driving without due care and attention is also an offense on this side of the Channel, I believe."

"You'll live," she told him heartlessly, refastening her seatbelt and sipping the water. "Speaking of driving offenses... do you actually have a licence?"

"Of course. In fact, I have two. Although the one in the name of Tobias Prince is a forgery, the one with my real name on it is quite genuine."

"When did you learn to drive?"

"When I was sixteen, over that summer, my new playmates taught me how to steal cars and drive them away. We had to look quite hard to find many cars in 1976, in such a poor neighbourhood, but we managed. I took my test in my late twenties, between wars."

"So this is all legal, then. I wondered," she admitted.

He smiled slightly. "The car is not insured."

"It's not – Severus! Why not?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to pay the premium when I so rarely drive the thing."

"You can pay monthly, you know." He shrugged, and she sighed. "What do you plan to do if we get pulled over?"

Severus gave her a look of open amusement. "Convince the nice _gendarmes_ to go away, of course. If you examine the tax disc, you will see that it is fake; I do not pay taxes in the Muggle world and I see no reason to start now. Nobody takes any notice, Hermione."

"It's not right, though." After a moment she sighed, knowing that she was never going to convince him. "Come on, then; Paris is waiting."

"We won't get there today."

"All the more reason to hurry up, so we're as close as possible before we stop tonight."

Rolling his eyes, he shifted in his seat one last time and shoved the old car into gear, giving her a smile before turning his attention to the road once more.

* * *

So far, Hermione decided, she was favourably impressed with Paris. Severus had clearly done his homework and showed no hesitation, threading through the chaotic streets – crowded even though it was quite early in the morning – to a car park that turned out to belong to a very posh and expensive-looking hotel. She had barely opened her mouth when he had informed her calmly that if she said one word of objection he was going to hit her with a Silencing charm so strong she'd need him to lift it before she'd be able to teach in September. He had gone on to say, as he unloaded their bags from the car, that it was none of her business what this was costing, as he was paying for it, and he wasn't going to listen. He had chosen it and the only objection he would allow her was if something was actually _wrong; _until that happened, she was going to cease any argument and accept it.

In the face of this sudden masterful attitude, she had thought it best to keep silent and give in.

She had, however, pointed out that this place was far too smart for them to be wandering around in jeans and t-shirts, and decided that she didn't like Transfigured clothing. Severus had rolled his eyes at the transparent ploy, but he did admit she had a point about their casual clothes being somewhat out of place, and once they had checked in he consented to being dragged out shopping.

Normally, Hermione wasn't terribly fond of shopping, but she was enjoying herself now. Apart from anything else, Severus made an ideal shopping companion; unlike every other male of her acquaintance in thirty years, he carried bags without being asked, was a skilled enough and smart enough actor to hide it if he was bored, and was more than happy to spend three hours in a bookstore when they found one that stocked a variety of books in English. Even clothes shopping wasn't a chore, although she did have to scold him several times – if she tried on something he liked the look of, he promptly found it in a smaller size.

Finally he informed her that they were both going to need formal clothing for that evening, took her into an expensive-looking store and gave the assistants crisp instructions in fluent French before stalking over towards the menswear department. The giggling saleswomen told her that he had ordered them to make sure she chose anything she liked without getting hung up on the price or whether it was too daring or anything else foolish – that was a direct quote – and that he would pay for it when she was ready. One of them asked hopefully if there were any more men like him in England, and sighed in disappointment when Hermione laughingly told her that no, he was pretty much unique.

* * *

She was very pleased with her purchases in the end, but horrified by the final price – she was a little hazy on the current exchange rate between Euros and sterling, let alone what that translated to in Galleons, but French clothing was notoriously expensive, and this was very high quality. This entire trip must be costing Severus an absolute fortune, but he had given her his most fearsome Potions-master-in-a-bad-mood glare the one time she had attempted to say something; she had thought she was immune to that by now, but apparently not. Making a mental note to spend the rest of the summer if necessary trying to convince him to let her pay him back, at least in part, she let it drop for now.

They had a late lunch in a small café and spent the rest of the day playing Muggle tourist; visiting the Eiffel Tower, walking along the Seine, passing the Sacré Coeur, the Louvre and Notre Dame. Severus told her that there was a wizarding community in the city, but nothing to get excited over; the French equivalent of Diagon Alley was actually in St Malo, in Brittany. He also told her with a very carefully nonchalant air that tonight's plans involved dinner and dancing, and looked openly amused when she insisted on returning to the hotel several hours early to get ready; he laughed outright when she finally emerged from the bathroom and banished him from the bedroom with his clothes to leave her in peace while she dressed and did her hair.

Hermione studied her reflection in the full-length mirror and tried not to gape; she never really thought of herself as attractive until she had a reason to make an effort. The Yule Ball in fourth year sprang to mind; that was the first time she had understood that actually she could be very pretty. Slowly she assessed herself from head to foot; her hair had been (almost literally) beaten into submission with every charm she could think of and pulled up to spill in soft curls down her neck, and she had made an effort with her eye makeup and added a little lip gloss, but no other cosmetics – she hated the feel of foundation covering her skin, and Severus disliked the taste of lipstick, which was embarrassingly rather higher on her list of priorities than it should have been. She had always had good skin, at least – having acne or oil problems on top of her hair would just have been _too _unfair. High heels, which were risky when she wore them so seldom – especially if dancing was involved – but worth the effort, nail varnish and a proper evening bag; but it was the dress that was the star of the show.

It was silk, a deep and rich brown a little darker than good milk chocolate, with undertones that reflected the light in warm burgundy highlights and brought out almost honey shades in her hair. The cut left her shoulders bare and showed more cleavage than she was entirely comfortable with, clinging to her body down to her hips before the skirt flared out just enough to swirl as she moved. Gold embroidery along the neckline and almost no sleeves completed it; she was thankful it was summer, because this dress had never been designed to be worn with a wrap of any kind. She had never owned anything so lovely, and it had cost a frightening amount of money.

The jewellery, at least, was hers, topaz and gold earrings and her old gold cross that her grandmother had given her for her tenth birthday. Her silver otter ring did _not _match, and silver was an element of purity that would make it all but impossible to Transfigure it even temporarily or change it with a glamour, but she didn't want to take it off. Considering the problem, she studied her reflection again thoughtfully, and had a brief moment of pettiness – _I wish Lavender and Parvati and the others could see the Brain of Gryffindor now! – _before she saw the bathroom door opening in the mirror and turned eagerly to see Severus in all his glory.

And he was worth looking at; she was afraid for a moment that she might start drooling on her new dress. She had never even seen him in a Muggle suit before, let alone a tuxedo, but it was definitely a sight she wanted to remember. It was also, in its way, peculiarly Severus. He had always suited black well, and it was cut in such a way that his thin frame gained breadth in the shoulders, over a crisp white shirt, and – she smiled – a silvery-green, almost teal silk bow tie and silver-and-emerald cufflinks; a Slytherin to the last, it seemed. He had done something to his hair, too, combed it back and up so it swept back from his face.

He was also staring at her with a faintly stunned expression that Hermione found extremely gratifying. Anyone observing him in that moment would be certain that this was a man who really liked what he was seeing; the intensity in his eyes was enough to send shivers down her spine. Smiling, she stepped away from the mirror and did a little twirl. "Do you like it?"

Severus actually had to swallow before he could answer, she noticed with another little thrill. "Very much so," he replied slowly, his voice ever so slightly husky. For that reaction alone, this dress had been more than worth the money, and they hadn't even left the hotel room yet; this promised to be a very good night.

"Good, because it's cost you an absolute fortune," she informed him.

"Do stop harping on about money, woman," he muttered absently, still staring. "It's my money and if I want to spend it in Paris then I shall do so." His eyes eventually made it back to her face. "Really, Hermione, I am not quite as poor as I seem," he added wryly. "My salary is hardly generous, but for ten months of the year I have no expenses. The rent for the caravan site is negligible and I do not pay for water or electricity; my private Potions stores now come courtesy of the Hogwarts budget. I am therefore free to spend virtually my entire year's wages on whatever I please. And I assure you..." His dark eyes made another slow sweep of her body, making her shiver as she almost felt his gaze touching her skin. "I would happily pay twenty times as much."

"Well," she managed after a moment, "that's certainly nice to know." She smiled when he looked at her. "But I'm being serious now, Severus – this is too much. It's absolutely wonderful, and I'm enjoying every second of it, and the rest of the time promises to be even better, but... you didn't need to do all this on my account. And I know you're going to tell me that you wouldn't be doing it if you weren't enjoying it, but this sort of big romantic gesture isn't exactly _you, _is it?" she said gently, trying not to sound like she was insulting him.

He looked more awkward than annoyed; after a moment he sighed and looked at her soberly. "Has it occurred to you that I've never had a romantic break in Paris either, Hermione?" he asked softly. "I've never even really dated anyone. I missed out on all that, all the sneaking around and holding hands in the corridors and giggling in corners – not that I wanted most of that," he added with a flash of his usual disdain, before his expression turned serious once more. He shrugged uncomfortably. "My previous romantic history involves some business deals and some drunken one-night stands. I've never had the chance to actually do this before."

"Never?" she asked gently, touched by the confession. He shook his head, looking at the ground.

"One of the reasons I clung so desperately to Lily's memory for so many years was that there simply was no one else. Even when we weren't at war... even if I had been less damaged, I spent ten months out of twelve stuck at Hogwarts, where I was almost always the only person between the ages of eighteen and about sixty-odd. When did I ever even meet anyone who might have caught my interest, let alone have that interest reciprocated? No woman would ever have looked at me twice anyway. I was by far the least popular child of either gender in the school, for the entirety of my seven years as a pupil, and the trend has continued unabated my entire life." Lifting his head, he looked at her almost defiantly, as though daring her to feel sorry for him; the shadow in his eyes was one she had seen often before and spoke of many years of loneliness.

Hermione studied him for a long moment, before smiling at him. "Severus, come over here. No, don't scowl at me like that – just come here. I want to show you something." Tugging his arm, she eventually got him standing in front of the mirror, and pointed at his reflection. "Take a look at yourself, properly." She watched his reflection's expression fade from a scowl into quiet neutrality as he studied the pair of them in the mirror. "I think it's a shame you never found anyone you could simply be yourself with," she said softly, "because _this _is the man you really are. You're a much better man than you think you are, Severus, and I'm sorry you kept your mask in place so long, and I'm sorry nobody took the time to look past it."

After a moment she added more lightly, "But I'm not all _that _sorry, because it does mean I get you all to myself now. And if you want to keep practising spoiling me, feel free."

He continued to study their reflections pensively for a few minutes before turning to her; he still had to look down into her eyes, but thanks to the high heels, not by very much. A soft smile warmed his eyes before his lips curved to match it, and he glanced back at the mirror with a hint of humour in his face. "We do clean up fairly well, do we not?" he observed. "I don't believe any of our acquaintances would recognise us tonight."

Moving away a few paces, he turned back to face her and bowed formally, presenting her with a red rose that he had produced from somewhere. "Shall we, my lady?" he asked gravely, offering his arm with a sparkle in his eyes.

Smiling at him, she rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Lead on, sir."

* * *

"Why have I never seen you dance, Severus?" she murmured, following the movements of his body as the music curled around them. "You're graceful enough just walking, but this..."

They were pressed close enough that she could feel the vibration of laughter in his chest. "Nobody has, since those lessons when I was a boy," he said softly, lowering his head to hers, his breath warm on her ear, "for the very simple reason that there was nobody I wished to dance with." His hand smoothed the silk of her dress over her hip as they turned together.

"The Yule Ball used to be held every year, until shortly before you came to Hogwarts. In my fourth and fifth years, I went with Lily, but we did not dance with one another. We sat at one of the tables and I made her laugh by criticising the people she did not like, and in between times she danced with other boys. In my sixth year, I was in the hospital wing. In my seventh year, I went alone, and I tried to ignore the sight of her dancing with Potter for about half an hour, before I stole a bottle that had been intended to spike the fruit punch from one of my housemates and fled to get very drunk by myself."

She could feel the press of his fingertips on her back, five little points of heat, and looked up into his eyes as they caught the muted soft lighting and glittered like polished jewels.

"As for when I was teaching... Come now, Hermione. Who would I have danced with? Most of the female staff members were my former teachers, all considerably older than me and ranging from mildly intimidating to outright deranged. I never really got along with any of my colleagues, as you are well aware, nor would I have willingly made any sort of exhibition of myself in front of the little vermin who attend that school. Even Dumbledore never bullied me into dancing, not even to teach my House."

"So many wasted talents," she teased, smiling up at him as she followed the slight shift of his shoulders under her hands. "I feel positively greedy, keeping you for myself like this. Then I tell myself it's not my fault nobody else was smart enough to look closer, and the guilt goes away rather quickly."

He chuckled softly, the sound sliding right down her spine, and drew her even more closely against him as they danced. "You do know that there are at least half a dozen men around this room who are staring at you at this moment?" he asked almost conversationally.

She smiled up at him. "You're not even remotely jealous, are you?"

His eyes sparkled with laughter as he looked down at her. "At a glance, all of them are younger, more attractive and apparently more successful than I am, and yet they are all envious of me. Jealous? I'm delighted." The laughter faded, but the sparkle did not. "Besides, how can I blame them for staring at you, when I have done nothing else all night?"

"Flatterer." Hermione reached up to touch his face, lightly tracing a path along his cheekbone with her fingertips. "I would have thought you the jealous type."

"Possessive and jealous are not the same thing; I do not share, and as many people are, I am often insanely jealous of things I do not have," he replied, subtly leaning into the caress. "No doubt, were I out with a lesser woman, I might be jealous. But I trust you," he said simply. "You did not intend to give any of them a second glance, did you?"

"When I have you? Of course not."

"Then what reason do I have to be jealous?" he asked.

"Emotions aren't usually that logical, Severus," she replied, smiling at him. "Then again, you defy all convention in so many ways, and your mind is almost frighteningly controlled, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you can suppress jealousy just by deciding that it isn't necessary."

He raised an eyebrow and smiled back at her. "_I _defy all convention?"

"Shut up and dance with me."

* * *

It was like something out of a bad movie, Hermione reflected, biting back a giggle. It was well after midnight and she was perhaps more than slightly drunk, wandering down the street with her shoes in her hand because she couldn't bear to walk in them any longer, her other hand resting on the arm of an equally drunk man who had pulled his tie loose and undone the first button on his shirt and whose hair was in disarray. Trying not to stumble, she laughed aloud. "Could this be any more clichéd?"

Severus chuckled softly, steadying her. "I don't hear an uplifting soundtrack," he offered. "And I assure you I'm not going to drop to one knee and propose." He paused just long enough, before adding with perfect timing, "My knee wouldn't stand for it."

Laughing, she shoved him playfully and grinned when he actually stumbled. "You really must be pissed."

"I don't actually drink that much," he replied with as much dignity as possible. "When I do drink, it's to get drunk. I seldom drink for pleasure."

"That's true," she agreed thoughtfully. She supposed it was partly because he was the son of an abusive alcoholic. Seeing him nod, she flushed, realising that she'd spoken aloud. "Sorry."

He shook his head vigorously. "Don't be. I like that it's not an issue." He smiled at her, the expression slightly lopsided. "I'll regret saying this, I realise, but I like that you speak your mind, that you – that you don't hide from me," he finished, drawing an answering smile from her as she remembered saying the same thing to him. She moved closer to him and he draped an arm around her shoulders as she slid her arm around his waist in return.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, they had managed to sober up a little, enough that they could at least walk straight. Severus was humming to himself in the lift up to their room, and she smothered a giggle. "You do have the oddest ear for music."

"How so?"

"You sing wonderfully, but you hum off key, and you're the only man I've ever met who manages to whistle out of tune."

"You can't whistle at all," he pointed out, with the flawless logic of alcohol.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you mentioned musical ability."

That was true, and therefore very hard to argue with. She might have made the effort nonetheless, but Severus seemed to remember how he usually stopped her from arguing, and by the time the lift reached their floor he had her pressed against the wall as they made out like teenagers, kissing and groping and unashamedly rubbing and grinding against one another.

They made unsteady progress down the plush hallway, with frequent pauses against handy walls for more kissing, before discovering that neither of them was sober enough to work out how to operate the key card. "What's wrong with a metal key?" Severus muttered, glaring at the square of plastic as though it had personally offended him.

"Get with the times, old man," she told him, biting her lip to muffle laughter, and fumbled her wand out of her bag with awkward fingers. "_Alohomora. _Open Sesame."

Snorting a laugh, he gallantly bowed and gestured her through the door ahead of him, unceremoniously kicking it shut behind him and pushing her against it as his lips found hers once more. Groaning into his mouth, Hermione tangled her fingers through his hair, which had fought off whatever he had done to it earlier and once again hung in curtains around his face, as he ground his erection against her. He tasted of one of the best meals she had ever had, and the sweetness of the old and expensive dessert wine they had been drinking all night, and of himself – that addictive bittersweet flavour that she adored.

Gradually their hungry kisses slowed and grew gentler, lazy and almost drugging, and she realised at the same moment he did that they could still hear music coming faintly from somewhere. She wasn't sure which of them started moving first, but they began to dance once more, slowly, barely swaying to the distant music as they kissed. He reached behind her head and freed her hair, letting the curls spill down loose around her shoulders and down her back once more, and she pulled his loosened tie completely undone before they drew apart, smiling at one another.

Hermione stood in front of the mirror and removed her jewellery carefully, watching his reflection as he took out his cufflinks and shrugged out of his jacket before sitting briefly to remove his shoes and socks. Standing, he padded across the plush carpet to stand behind her, and she closed her eyes as she felt his arms slide around her waist and pull her close against him, lowering his head to kiss her neck gently. They stood like that for an unknown length of time before he pulled away and began slowly unfastening her dress, his fingers leaving trails of fire on her skin and sending shivers down her spine.

She watched him in the mirror as he slowly pushed the dress down her shoulders, sliding his hands down her body to her waist and gathering the silk at her hips; he stepped close against her back once more and she felt his breath warm on her skin as he kissed her neck, his eyes also on the two of them reflected in the mirror. Turning in the circle of his arms, she smiled up at him as she began to undo his already half-unbuttoned shirt, letting her dress fall to the floor as she did so and reflecting that she loved being a witch – magic would deal with any creases or dirt tomorrow, so she didn't need to indulge her conscience over the cost of the thing by stopping to hang it up neatly and was instead free to concentrate on his skin as she pushed the shirt back off his shoulders and he shrugged out of it before bending his head to kiss her once more.

Every movement was slow, the sensations almost hazy as they slowly continued removing one another's clothing, his trousers joining her underwear on the carpet. Naked, he turned her and pulled her back against his chest once more, watching the mirror again as his reflection curled one hand to cup her breast and slid the other slowly between her legs, and she watched herself arching against him as the familiar pleasant ache intensified and he parted her thighs to open her to his view in the mirror. "Severus, please..."

She saw him smile, but even he could only tease for so long, and he turned away from the mirror at last and drew her with him to the bed, kissing her once more. Their lovemaking continued just as slowly, every sensation exquisitely drawn out as they moved together, and as she surrendered to him for the final time he came with her.

On the edge of sleep in his arms, she murmured drowsily, "Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"You're pretty good at this 'dating' thing, you know. For a first attempt, I mean."

He chuckled softly and didn't answer.

* * *

In the wake of that night, Hermione would have been quite happy to move to Paris and never go anywhere again, but they did eventually make it home, and she left him unpacking and sorting mail while she went to collect Crookshanks, highly indignant at being neglected for a week – and, she suspected, more than a little tired of the children constantly trying to play with him. Crooning apologies to her offended familiar and promising him a variety of treats they had bought in France, and ignoring Ginny's desperately curious questioning with a vaguely dreamy smile and an equally vague promise to write 'later', she returned to the caravan to find Severus stretched out on the sofa and reading the _Quibbler _with a thoughtful expression.

"More warnings about the upcoming winter Nargle infestation?" she asked as she put Crookshanks down; the cat promptly disappeared with an irritated meow to inspect his territory for signs of neglect in his absence.

"Actually, no – well, perhaps, but I haven't read that far." He held up the magazine, and Hermione blinked as she read the headline.

"_'Minister Embarrassed as Memorial Proves a Damp Squib'_?"

Nodding, Severus took the magazine back and began to read. "_'The annual memorial event to mark the anniversary of'_ – the Dark Lord's – _'defeat at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was held earlier than usual this year, but that was not the only change. The attending crowd was greatly reduced, with numbers at their lowest since the tradition began, and was marked by a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. The Minister's usual rousing speech received a very lukewarm reception, and was rather embarrassingly followed by Harry Potter's refusal to address the crowd. 'The war wasn't about Ministry speeches', Harry said, 'and this isn't a fitting way to remember what happened.' Following his example, other high-standing members of the Order of the Phoenix also declined to speak, and this reporter did not see a single person wearing their Ministry-awarded Order of Merlin. We understand that the Order may have begun to query the Ministry's right to be involved in the celebration and memorial, given their lack of involvement in the war itself. We shall have to wait and see what effect this may have'_."

Hermione blinked slowly, sitting down next to him. "Well, that's put the Kneazle among the pigeons."

"It's certainly interesting. I didn't think it was that significant, and by itself I do not believe it was. But Miss Lovegood appears to be spinning it – quite skilfully, I might add – as a declaration of independence; and Potter always was rather fond of opposing the Ministry." He eyed the magazine thoughtfully before handing it to her. "We shall, indeed, have to wait and see."

She smiled at him. "It's your fault, you know. That will teach you to think before you speak when I'm around."

He smirked back at her. "And what makes you think that I did not in fact do just that?"

There wasn't really much she could say to that. Making a mental note to write to Luna later, she left the consummate Slytherin looking pleased with himself and went to finish unpacking.

* * *

_The next chapter is very, very important. I think you're going to like it.  
_


	34. Chapter 34

_Happy birthday, **Frusie**__!  
_

* * *

**"For so long there was no hope to believe in,**  
**Washed away with every tear I cried.**  
**But now my dreams are wide awake and breathing,**  
**And I'm letting out all that I held inside**.**"**  
– Katherine Jenkins, 'Fear Of Falling'.

* * *

A few lazy days later, they had both recovered from the trip and were preparing for a summer of as much idleness as they could get away with. She hadn't been able to coax him outside, but as he had pointed out, skin as pale as his could not physically tan and he wasn't particularly eager to experience sunburn again; in any case, she was quite happy sunbathing just outside the caravan and talking to him while he amused himself cooking or carrying out minor repairs.

"Any plans today?" she asked idly at breakfast, and was mildly surprised when he nodded slowly.

"Yes, actually. I could use some company, if you can spare time from your busy schedule," he added dryly.

Hermione smiled at him. "I might be able to tear myself away for a little while, yes. What are we going to be doing?"

He only shrugged in response, clearly not going to tell her. Studying his closed-off expression, she concluded that he wasn't terribly happy about this, but he didn't look precisely unhappy either; desperately curious, she went to get dressed and shortly afterwards endured the whirling disorientation of Side-Along Apparition.

Their location, when the world stopped spinning, puzzled her. They were standing on a tree-lined footpath that ran along a fence; looking through the fence, she frowned and turned to look back at Severus. "A graveyard?"

He nodded. "This won't take very long," was all he said, walking down the path to a gate in the hedge and letting them both through. He clearly had a specific destination in mind as he set off unhesitatingly across the cemetery, and all she could do was follow him curiously, wondering where they were.

Their destination turned out to be two very overgrown graves in a rather shabby corner of the graveyard, the stones half-choked by a bramble and obscured by moss and lichen. Hunkering down in his usual awkward stance, bad leg out to one side, Severus drew his wand after a perfunctory glance around to make sure nobody could see them, and began slowly clearing the debris away.

By the time the names were visible, she had already worked it out – the list of people whose graves he would care about one way or the other was very short, and she knew where the others were buried. He stood up, dusting off his hands, and backed away a little; she came forward and stood beside him, and they stared down at the graves silently.

TOBIAS SNAPE  
1932-1976  
_Made weak by time and  
fate, but strong in will._

EILEEN PRINCE SNAPE  
1935-1976  
_That cup has been dealt  
in another measure._

After a while Hermione observed quietly, "I recognise the Alfred Lord Tennyson quote; it's from Ulysses. I don't know the other one."

"Percy Shelley," Severus replied distantly. "I can't remember which poem offhand, though."

"Do you visit often?"

He shook his head. "I didn't visit at all until the first war was over, then I stopped by once a year until 1998, just to tidy up. This is only the second time I've been back since I came back to Britain. I don't really see much point, to be honest. It doesn't mean anything for me. But if I don't do it, nobody will."

"Do you want some privacy?" she asked cautiously, and he laughed without humour.

"If I started talking to the dead, I'd never stop. In any case, I have nothing to say to either of them. And if I wished to be here alone, I would not have asked you to come."

"Good point." She stood beside him for a while, thinking about what little she knew of these two people and remembering the few glimpses of memory she had seen of them, and occasionally glancing at Severus to make sure he was all right. His dark eyes were distant, and she didn't know what he was thinking. Disliking the silence, she asked, "Does the Prince family have a burial plot somewhere?"

"I believe so, but I do not know where it is, nor do I particularly care," he replied flatly. Seeming to realise this response had been less than friendly, he elaborated, "They all but disowned my mother for marrying a Muggle. I never met any of them. The last relative died when I was still a boy."

"Does that make you the family heir?"

He chuckled softly. "Had there been anything left to inherit, perhaps. I'm afraid there's no grand estate or vault of gold anywhere."

"Oh, darn," she replied sarcastically, relieved that his mood seemed reasonable. "What about your father's side?"

"His parents are buried in Whitby, I think. I met them once or twice, no more. He had no other living relatives by the time I was born." More softly, he added, "I am the last of either bloodline, which is perhaps for the best."

It was difficult to argue with that, so Hermione merely made a noncommittal noise and looked around them, trying to see past the graveyard walls to see what sort of place they were in; she still didn't know where they were. He had never confirmed her theory that he had been born in Manchester. "I assume your house was near here somewhere?"

Severus nodded and pointed almost due east. "That way."

"I know the house is gone, but I'd quite like to see where it used to be..." she said tentatively.

"You can't," he replied laconically. "The whole estate was torn down a few years ago. It's an industrial estate full of office blocks now; I couldn't tell you where my street used to be without looking up old plans."

"Isn't progress wonderful," she said dryly. "Well, so much for that idea."

"There would have been very little to see anyway," he pointed out. "This is not exactly a major hot spot for sightseeing."

"No, but it still would have been interesting. It's your history. And Harry's, in a way," she added cautiously.

He shrugged. "True, I suppose. In fact, his grandparents are buried on the other side of the graveyard."

"What were they like? He would like to know..."

He shrugged again. "I didn't really know them, Hermione. Think back to when you were nine – how well did you know your friends' parents? Mr and Mrs Evans were nice enough people, and they were kind to me – I imagine they felt sorry for me – but I didn't see much of them."

"I suppose that's true. Sorry for all the questions..." He gave her a look of rebuke and she smiled. "I know, if you objected you would not have answered."

"If I objected to continual questions, I would hardly be with you, now would I?" he asked dryly, and she smothered a laugh.

"Good point. Git."

"So you keep saying." He looked back at the graves once more. "Well, that's all I wanted to do here. I would suggest we go into town or something before returning home, but I don't recognise most of this place any more."

"Home sounds fine," she assured him, smiling. "I'm wasting valuable tanning time, here."

He snorted softly and offered his arm, and they Apparated away.

* * *

Severus had been quiet throughout the afternoon, but not unusually so. He was never particularly talkative, after all. That evening he was clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts as they ate, which Hermione was fine with; a visit to his parents' graves wasn't exactly a cheerful outing, regardless of how he felt about them, and he was surely allowed to be in a slightly distant mood. After dinner they settled down on the sofa with Crookshanks as they did most evenings; Hermione was reading, and Severus was pretending to read – quite successfully. It would have fooled even the most suspicious person, but not someone who'd been watching him read for months; the rhythm was off. Every so often he took a deeper breath as though he was about to speak, then seemed to change his mind.

Eventually he did actually start reading properly, having evidently brooded his way to some sort of conclusion, and the evening passed quietly as the air cooled and it began to get dark. The companionable near-silence was finally broken by Severus saying absently, "Hermione?"

"Yes?" she replied, not taking her eyes from the page, missing the hesitant note in his voice.

"...You do know that I love you, don't you?"

Startled, she drew in a sharp breath and twisted to look at him. He was clearly a little anxious; he was sitting hunched in on himself, he had his eyes fixed on his book and he was obviously doing his best to pretend he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. His entire body screamed that he was trying not to draw attention to himself, and she understood that a lot was riding on how she responded; she could see the tension in him.

Letting herself relax, she smiled at him. "Yes, Severus, I know," she replied reassuringly, "but it's nice to hear it." Her smile broadened a little. "And in case you had somehow failed to work it out by now, I love you too," she added in a fair imitation of his matter-of-fact tone, before she returned her attention to her book and stared blankly at the pages while she tried to work out what had just happened.

She knew better than to ask what thought process had led to him deciding to say it now, of all times. For one thing, she doubted he knew, and if he did he probably wouldn't tell her. And, really, it didn't matter; ignoring her own somewhat melodramatic tendency towards self-doubt, she had known how he felt about her for quite a long time now, although she hadn't allowed herself to think about it until he'd said it.

Thinking about it, she decided this way – dropping it casually into a conversation, no flashy declarations – was better. Really, it was just a word. It was the emotion behind it that mattered, and she had been certain of that for a long time. And this way was far less embarrassing for both of them; she wondered how long he'd been considering saying it. As far as she knew, he had never said it to anyone, and she'd bet good money that nobody had ever said it to him. Listening to his breathing, she recognised the very careful rhythm and smiled despite herself; it should have been something so simple, but obviously her man was finding it difficult to deal with.

Taking pity on him, she stood and headed to the bathroom, washing her face and hands and lingering long enough to reassure herself that she wasn't sporting an embarrassingly goofy grin; by the time she came back he'd gone outside for a cigarette. When he came back, he settled beside her once more and returned to his book; both of them were behaving as though nothing had happened, but they both knew just what this meant for them as a couple.

* * *

All things considered, Hermione decided lazily as she approached Hogwarts once more in the last week of August, this summer's holiday had overtaken last year as the best vacation of her life. She physically couldn't seem to stop smiling; she was amazed Severus hadn't got fed up with her incessant cheeriness, but if anything he seemed mildly amused – with a touch of admittedly well-deserved smugness.

Letting Crookshanks go, she headed for the staff room and the pre-term meeting to sort out any last-minute problems, and was greeted enthusiastically by Neville. "Blimey, 'Mione, you look fantastic! Been anywhere special? That tan would give Hawaii a run for its money."

"Nowhere that exotic," she laughed, before adding casually, "just France."

"France – your parents? How did it go? Did you take him?"

"Yes, wonderfully, and yes, in that order." Smiling, she shook her head. "Let me get in the doorway and I'll tell you." Everyone in the room gathered around with interested expressions, and she outlined the main details of the visit, before getting a little sidetracked and beginning to rhapsodise – at length – about Paris.

Severus walked into the middle of her enthusiastic descriptions, and rolled his eyes as he crossed the room to his usual seat, snagging the _Daily Prophet _automatically on his way past. "You're not still going on about Paris? It's overrated, you know."

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Hello to you too, Severus."

"Did you have a nice summer, Professor?" Neville asked, fighting a smile.

"Tolerable, thank you," he responded politely as he took his seat.

"How do you know Hermione went to Paris?" Minerva asked suspiciously.

"Because I know everything," he replied in a bored tone of voice, a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes as several people snorted. "We do speak to one another occasionally, Minerva. I believe friends do something of the sort every now and then, although the art of conversation is popularly supposed to be dead."

"And I suppose you'll tell me next that you know who Hermione's mystery man is?"

"Of course I do," he replied in the same bored tone, opening the newspaper. "She talks of little else. It was hardly difficult to figure out."

Neville feigned a coughing fit, trying desperately not to laugh. Hermione only grinned, making a mental note to ensure that he paid for that later. At least he had the common sense not to look smug.

"I don't believe you," Minerva said flatly.

"Don't you? However will I find the strength to carry on?"

"Hermione wouldn't have told you."

"I didn't say she told me; I said it wasn't difficult to figure out."

"Does it matter?" Hermione interjected before the argument could continue any further. "You're both interrupting my reminiscing, here." She returned to her intensive description of the restaurant, drawing all attention back to her once more.

"There is one thing I don't really understand," Minerva said pensively when she finally ran out of words, having carefully glossed over the conclusion of the night.

"What's that?"

"After all that, why on earth didn't he propose? It seems odd to go to all that trouble and not ask. Do you think he lost his nerve at the last minute?"

"I very much doubt he ever intended to ask me," she replied mildly, resisting the urge to look at Severus; his expression would tell her nothing anyway and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. "Our lives work perfectly the way things are now, and there would be various problems to deal with if we did marry. If he did ask, I'd say yes, but I'm not expecting him to and I'm happy with that."

"I don't understand that at all," the Headmistress murmured.

"Well, we're kind of in a unique situation," Hermione replied, smiling. "We're both happy with the way things are."

"I suppose so," she said finally, sounding unconvinced, before clapping her hands briskly. "All right, then, we can go back to showing one another our holiday snaps later. To business, people. Firstly, as you all know, there will be some changes to the timetable this year..."

The meeting passed fairly routinely, as it usually did. Finally Minerva said quietly, "Before you all leave, there is one last matter I must tell you about." She didn't sound happy, and everyone turned to give her inquiring looks. "In a few weeks, the Ministry will be sending flunkies to draw up profiles of all staff members."

"What?" The exclamation came from several people at once.

The Headmistress sighed. "They have decided they wish for more detailed records. It shouldn't be anything too arduous – or too personal – and we do technically have the right to refuse to answer any questions. There will be a truth-detecting charm set up, so anything we do answer must be honest."

"Not Veritaserum?"

Minerva looked awkward. "They raised some doubts about its efficiency."

"No need to dance around the point, Minerva," Severus said quietly from his corner. "This is partly because of my presence amongst the staff once more, is it not?"

"I believe so, yes," Minerva agreed neutrally.

"It only took them two years to get around to investigating. The joys of bureaucracy," Severus remarked acidly.

"And, of course, the rest of the reason is because the _Quibbler_'s latest article has made the Minister nervous about what's going on at Hogwarts," Hermione said viciously. "I didn't realise paranoia was compulsory. Has anyone checked his drinking water lately, do we know?"

"What sort of questions are they going to be asking?" Neville wanted to know.

"I'm not sure," the Headmistress replied. "Some will be basic profile information, such as date of birth, blood status and so on. Some will be a little more personal – Patronus and Boggart forms were given as examples. And some make frankly no sense – there was a hint that they want us all to sniff Amortentia and describe the smell, for Merlin's sake!"

"What on earth is that supposed to tell them?" Hermione demanded incredulously over the outraged response.

"Well, if one of us declares that it smells of blood, that's probably an indication that there's something wrong, wouldn't you say?" Severus drawled mockingly, earning a few snorts.

"You're not angry about this, Severus?" Filius asked. "I would have expected you to protest the misuse of the potion, if nothing else."

He shrugged. "It would tell them nothing even if we did it, not without a frame of reference. I could list the main scents I detect in Amortentia here and now, and it would mean absolutely nothing to any of you because you would not know what those scents represent to me. The information is utterly useless, and useless information is one of the Ministry's greatest passions."

It was Neville, surprisingly, who dared to ask curiously, "What..."

"Apricots, passion flower, bay leaves and bluebells," he replied promptly. "I'm sure you are all enlightened now as to the innermost workings of my mind, are you not?"

"Good point," Minerva conceded after a pause, looking as though she was desperate to find out what those scents meant but didn't quite dare ask – an emotion apparently shared by almost everyone else in the room, judging by the way they were all staring at Severus. "Nobody would be surprised to learn that mine is predominantly whiskey and autumn breezes, either; oh, and cherry pie."

"Newly turned soil and green things for me," Neville said cheerfully, "that and bubblegum."

"Fresh cotton, sea air, wood varnish and stewed rhubarb," Filius contributed.

"Rain, herbs, copper and woodsmoke," Hermione admitted at last, fighting a smile. _Apricots, hmm? I never knew that._

One by one the other staff members listed up to half a dozen smells each, laughing and teasing one another about some of the odder ones. From the way the older female teachers laughed when Madam Hooch confessed to blue cheese, Hermione suspected a long-running private joke, and probably a filthy one.

"Severus was right," Hermione concluded afterwards, grinning. "That is completely useless information."

"Precisely. And, as such, the Ministry are welcome to it."

"So, we have no objections?" Minerva asked.

"I object to them interfering in the first place, but not necessarily to the particular method of interference," Severus replied somewhat sourly. "One day, they might learn to mind their own business."

"And the shock will probably stop the sun," Hermione told him, earning a snort of amused agreement. "I'll write to Luna afterwards. Sooner or later they'll realise that every time they try a stunt at Hogwarts, they're the ones who get embarrassed."

* * *

The new term came as a real shock. Hermione hadn't fully realised just how much difference a single class could make; she only taught the new first years twice a week, but it left her utterly wiped out for the first month. Severus wasn't remotely sympathetic, merely informing her caustically that she ought to have tried suddenly teaching seven classes, each with a minimum of two lessons a week, as her first ever job when she was only a couple of years older than the NEWT students. He'd barely managed to adjust before the end of the first year – especially since he had also been trying to cope with Voldemort's disappearance and the deaths of James and Lily, and had also been arrested and tried as a Death Eater complete with a week in Azkaban before the trial.

Even so, she found that she was enjoying it. Some of the students were taking time to adjust – the Muggleborns knew it all already, since she was having to go right back to basics, and many of the purebloods resented having to learn it, but she had planned her syllabus carefully and was confident that she would succeed in getting them all interested eventually.

A note arrived from George one morning that left her feeling somewhat confused:

_Er, little sister, what've you done to your bloke? _

_G_

* * *

_George _

_What do you mean? _

_H_

* * *

_H_

_I've got a letter from him here, apologising for my ear. I'm not sure whether I should be scared or not. _

_G_

* * *

_G_

_It's nothing to do with me! I'll ask him about it. By the way, speaking of Severus, your mum's invited me to drop by the Burrow on my birthday; I'm going to tell your parents then. Wish me luck. _

_H_

* * *

_Luck, little sister; and an early happy birthday too, in case I forget on the day._

_G_

* * *

"Severus, did you write to George and apologise for amputating his ear?" she asked slowly.

"Amongst other things, yes," he replied calmly, glancing up from his work.

"Why?"

"You don't think it perhaps merits an apology?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Just what are you up to, Slytherin?" she asked suspiciously; she'd known him far too long to take this seemingly innocuous incident at face value. He was planning something.

She expected him to look innocent – well, as innocent as he ever managed to get, which wasn't much – and deny being up to anything at all, but instead he shrugged and replied cryptically, "Building bridges."

"Why?" she repeated.

He shrugged again and replied nonchalantly, "In preparation for whatever scheme you have in mind for my forced re-entry into society, or at least your portion of it. No doubt you have a carefully prepared numbered list somewhere. Possibly it is colour coded," he added dryly.

"That wasn't very nice," she muttered half-heartedly, before sighing. "Sometimes I wish you were stupid after all, Severus."

He snorted. "No, you don't."

"Well, okay, no," she conceded. "Even so, it would make life much easier sometimes, although admittedly not as much fun." She outlined the plan she and George had come up with for Boxing Day. "Does that sound bearable?" she asked a little anxiously.

Severus looked more relieved than anything else. "It's better than I feared it would be," he allowed cautiously, having obviously had visions of being thrown in at the deep end and paraded around in front of the entire extended Weasley clan, and she smiled at him.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Severus; I wouldn't do it to them, either, come to that. So is that a yes?"

"I am breathless with anticipation, if not downright giddy," he responded, his voice dripping sarcasm as only he could manage, before returning to his marking.

* * *

Hermione woke early on the morning of her thirty-first birthday; she'd agreed to visit the senior Weasleys before Arthur left for work. She needed to get moving, but she spared herself a few moments to watch Severus sleeping first; she had planned to spend some time with him before she left, because he had a busy day and she wasn't likely to see him much, but looking at him now she found that she didn't have the heart to wake him. He always looked so peaceful when he slept, these days – and he slept more deeply, which at times like this was quite useful. Smiling, she very carefully slid out of bed and started to get ready.

It still felt odd to be showing up at the Burrow on her own, even after all this time. The ramshackle old house looked much the same as ever, only with less clutter lying around now that it wasn't full of messy teenage boys any more. Molly and Arthur hadn't changed all that much, either – they were both going grey now, but that was about it, and they greeted her as warmly as ever and wished her happy birthday before ushering her inside for breakfast and conversation. She hadn't managed to see them in a while and there was quite a lot to catch up on before she managed to work the talk around to why she was there.

"Do you have to leave yet, Arthur?" she asked softly. "Only there's something I'd like to talk to you both about..." Arthur Weasley was head of his department now, and he and his wife had a lot more money now they weren't trying to get all their children through school, although most of their income was spent on spoiling the grandchildren.

"There's nothing that can't wait. Go ahead, Hermione."

She took a breath; this conversation didn't get any easier no matter how many times she had it. "Well, it's partly about this Christmas, I suppose," she began carefully.

"You're invited as usual," Molly interjected, and she smiled despite herself.

"Thank you, but I'd rather give it a miss this year, and come down on Boxing Day instead, if that's okay? You see... I'd like you all to meet this mystery man I've been raving about for months, but he can't cope with the whole crowd and it's a bit unfair of me to ask him to. I was wondering about a smaller gathering, to ease him in gently? No children, if possible..."

They exchanged glances before Molly replied slowly, "I'm sure that will be fine, but... why? There's obviously more to this than you're admitting, dear. Tell us everything first, and then we'll worry about Christmas."

Despite herself, Hermione smiled wryly. "Once I tell you everything you may never want to see me again."

"Don't be silly, Hermione. You've got me interested now; what's going on?"

She took another deep breath, steadying herself, and exhaled slowly. "Well, this mystery wizard I'm involved with... I don't know how much your children have told you about him, but... he's someone you both know, or used to know..."

Arthur nodded slowly. "George has been hinting as much recently..."

"He would." She smiled briefly, wondering just what her friend and honorary older brother had been saying, before sighing as the smile faded. Steeling herself, she said quickly, "Well, it – it's Severus Snape."

There was a brief pause as Molly and Arthur exchanged glances, and Hermione started to get really nervous, wondering uneasily just how bad their reactions were going to be. The two of them looked back at her and started to smile a little, before Molly said cheerfully, "Good."

Hermione gaped at them. "What?"

Arthur chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair. "George isn't the only member of this family who can add up, you know. We've been wondering whether it was him since last Christmas, but we weren't completely sure."

She continued to stare blankly between them, before finally saying faintly, "I don't understand. Why aren't you angrier about this? I mean..."

Molly held up a hand to stop her, smiling warmly. "It was rather a nasty shock when we first realised who all your cryptic hints were pointing to, my dear, but we've been talking about it a lot since then. Neither of us went to school with Severus, you know – we left three or four years before he started. The first time we ever met him or even heard his name was when Albus finally introduced the Order to his mysterious Death Eater spy, which was quite some time after Severus changed sides. He couldn't have been more than twenty, and he looked absolutely petrified to be facing us all – as well he might, with men like Alastor Moody staring at him and debating whether or not he was trustworthy."

Arthur leaned forward and stage-whispered, "He was young, underweight and frightened. Molly adopted him instantly."

Hermione smothered a smile as Molly gave her husband a look of rebuke before laughing softly. "Not completely; he wouldn't allow that. But we saw a fair bit of him during the first war; he spent more time at whichever house was acting as Headquarters at the time, and he wasn't as good an actor then as he later became. I was up at odd times of the night with one or other of the children, and he was already an insomniac, so I often saw him late at night and we used to talk sometimes. Well, it was rather a one-sided conversation, since he refused to talk about himself, but still..." Hermione grinned at that, well able to imagine it. Molly continued, "And he wasn't as good at hiding injuries then, either. I saw something of what he had to go through. So that was our first impression of Severus..."

Her husband took up the story. "I was at his trial. One of the boys was ill and Molly couldn't make it, so she insisted that I go instead. Again, he looked very young and very frightened." He grimaced briefly. "A week in Azkaban before being turned over to the Aurors, who were very zealous and aggressive, didn't do him any good at all. He escaped imprisonment purely because Albus testified in his favour, and that was really the last we saw of him for many years." He smiled. "All the boys complained regularly about their Potions teacher, but I dare say they deserved almost everything he put them through."

Molly refilled their cups as she spoke again. "When we saw him again at the start of the second war, I was shocked to see just how much he had changed. The rather shy young man I first met had grown into a harsh and bitter man with a spiteful temper. But he still had some of the same mannerisms – the way he tries to hide behind his hair, for example. And Poppy Pomfrey is a good friend of mine, so I was aware of how often he was injured. He wasn't willing to accept my mothering him again and showed no inclination to talk to either of us, but... there were still traces of the young man we had first met."

"And we owe him a lot," Arthur added. He smiled as Hermione looked at him quizzically. "I overheard the healers discussing my injury while I was in St. Mungo's. They weren't happy about having to rely on an independent potioneer to do what their own Potions department couldn't manage. Only a Master could better the hospital Healers; Severus is the only Potions Master in Britain, and certainly the only one who would have any idea of how to treat a bite from Voldemort's pet snake. It wasn't difficult to work it out."

"Well, it looks like I've been worrying myself sick for nothing, then," Hermione said reflectively, smiling and shaking her head. "I thought you'd be absolutely horrified, after everything that happened to your children."

"George showed us the letter that Severus wrote to him, apologising for his ear," Molly said quietly. "And we saw Bill only last month; his scars already look so much better, and that's thanks to Severus, too." She sighed. "We had to come to terms with what happened to Ginny. I freely admit that I could have killed him myself when I learned what was happening to her at school, but when we learned what was really going on... Well, we both know it could have been a lot worse."

Hermione nodded quietly. "It still bothers him, you know. His guilt gives him terrible nightmares sometimes. It doesn't matter if other people condemn him or if they forgive him; he'll never forgive himself."

Molly nodded soberly. "He did his best to hide what it was doing to him, but I saw him close to tears too often to believe everything some of the others –"

"Moody, mostly," Arthur interjected quietly.

"– said about him," Molly finished, frowning slightly at the interruption. The older woman shrugged and smiled a little. "Death Eater he might have been, but without his direct intervention then half my family would be dead, and without him acting as a spy we all would be."

"You have no idea what a relief it is to hear that," Hermione said fervently. "It was starting to feel like the entire world was set against him."

"Who else knows?" Arthur asked. "I know George worked it out, because he's been gloating about it for months..."

She grinned. "I can imagine. He told Bill, Charlie and Percy for me – Percy was horrified at the potential for scandal, apparently, but apart from that, it went okay. Luna Lovegood's known almost from the beginning, and at school Neville and Poppy guessed. My parents know, and they've met him – that wasn't much fun, especially for poor Severus, but it went pretty well in the end. And I told Harry and Ginny a while ago. That was quite ugly, but we've sorted it out now."

"So the only one of us who doesn't know yet is Ron," Molly summed up, glancing worriedly at her husband. Arthur looked faintly alarmed. Ron was the most volatile of the family, and never liked hearing about Hermione's personal life anyway, and didn't like Severus either.

Hermione nodded glumly. "I'm afraid so. I really don't know how to tell him. I'm sorry to put you through it, but I think the best way is for him to find out when Severus and I show up here on Boxing Day, if it's okay for us to come, obviously. That way everyone else can..." She hesitated.

"Restrain him," Arthur filled in, nodding. He smiled slightly at her expression. "We do know what our children are like, Hermione."

Molly nodded slowly. "It's not really fair for him to find out like that..."

"I know," Hermione agreed reluctantly, "but I won't see him at all if he finds out beforehand. I hardly ever see him now as it is – I've not seen him since _last _Christmas. This way, at least I'll get to say hello before he storms out vowing never to speak to me again."

"Boxing Day it is, then."

Arthur had to leave for work at that point, wishing Hermione happy birthday again and saying that he would see her at Christmas; "If nothing else, it promises to be a lively day. Give Severus my best," he called on his way out of the door, and a moment later they heard him Apparate away.

Molly refilled their tea cups again and settled more comfortably in her chair, smiling. "And now, Hermione, we're going to have some girl talk. I have to admit I find it very difficult to come up with any sort of scenario that would cause Severus to relax his guard enough to become involved with anyone. Did you get him drunk?" she asked mischievously.

Hermione grinned. "No, but it was certainly quite a slow process. The short version – since I have to go to work soon as well – is that I was the only one at Hogwarts willing to talk to him; he either had to give in and become friends with me, or become totally isolated and turn into a complete recluse, and as one of the reasons he came back to the wizarding world was because the loneliness was driving him insane, he didn't have much choice. Once we started spending time together... well, we've got a lot in common. We like a lot of the same things."

The Weasley matriarch nodded. "The two of you are easily the two most intelligent people I have ever met. And you have a similar sense of humour, although yours is far less cutting than his."

She smiled. "True. Anyway, we got together a little over a year ago, in the summer holidays. And no, he wasn't drunk," she added dryly. Admittedly they had both been very drunk the day before, but they had both been stone cold sober by the time they had kissed.

"You certainly look happy," Molly said reflectively, studying her. "That's the main reason Arthur and I weren't quite as horrified as we could have been. It's surprising to learn that it's Severus who puts that smile on your face, but it's hard to argue that you can't be happy unless we approve of the person who makes you happy."

"That's pretty much exactly what George said," Hermione agreed, stifling a laugh at the echo; all the Weasley boys were so very different, but every now and then they all showed very clearly that they were related. "To be honest, sometimes I think it's a bit weird too. He's different to the way he was when I was at school, but not so different that you wouldn't recognise him. He's still strict and angry and harsh and bitter and everything else, but there are so many other sides to him as well. I can't explain it properly; it just... works. _We _work."

"And what of the future?"

She started laughing. "Molly, don't. We had this conversation when I was still with Ron. I still don't want to be a domestic goddess. What you've done for your family is amazing, but I don't want that sort of life, and nor does Severus. I've got a lot of plans for furthering my teaching career, and Severus seems convinced that I'll end up becoming Headmistress someday."

"You can't blame me for asking," Molly responded with a smile; this was a very old argument. "I still think you'd make a wonderful mother."

Hermione snorted. "I don't think so. Anyway, it's a moot point now; Severus is infertile. Please refrain from looking horrified. It doesn't bother either of us; you know I've never wanted children, and nor has he." She grinned. "You may perhaps have noticed that he doesn't like children."

After a moment Molly smiled. "You might be surprised, there. I quite often had a small boy or two with me during those late-night conversations I told you about. He seems to have a knack with them."

She tried not to giggle. "No, he doesn't. I've been watching him caring for his House, and teaching his students. He hasn't got the faintest idea how to deal with children, so he treats them like small adults, and somehow that seems to work. It's not a conscious thing."

The older witch thought about it and smiled. "That could be right, actually. What of _his _future, then? I know he never wanted to be a teacher; he stayed at Hogwarts because of his obligation to Albus."

Hermione nodded, finishing her tea. "He doesn't enjoy it, no. But he doesn't hate it as much as he used to. He loves Hogwarts, and he cares about Slytherin a great deal, although Hell will freeze over before he'll admit it. He's good at his job, we can spend most of our time together without drawing attention, and he's interested in the changes that are starting to happen; he also has time to pursue his own private research. Obviously nothing's ever certain, but I'm pretty sure we'll both stay exactly where we are." Maybe Severus did deserve better, but as long as he was happy, so was she.

"Will you marry?"

"No. I'm afraid you won't be able to plan my wedding, and nor will my mother." Hermione smiled and settled back in her chair. "With no children to worry about, and the fact that I'd keep my surname mostly at his insistence, it's simply not worth the public outcry. Neither of us wants the wizarding world in general to find out about us; that's pretty much the only reason, though."

"It is love, then?" Molly asked softly, and Hermione nodded, smiling again.

"Yes. Severus only managed to actually admit it a couple of months ago," she added fondly, her smile turning a little rueful as she remembered, "but we both knew long before that. Bizarre as it is, we're permanent."

"Good, then. I'm very happy for you both. But..." Molly hesitated. "I was there when Harry faced Voldemort," she said softly. "What he said about Severus and his mother... was it true?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. Severus did love Lily once. But it was a very long time ago; he stayed true to her memory partly because he never met anyone who meant more to him than she had, and partly out of guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Yes. He blames himself for what happened to her and James."

"Harry told us that," Molly remembered. "We didn't believe that Albus could trust Severus based on that."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, thinking, then made her decision and leaned forward. "Severus was the one who overheard part of the prophecy and told Voldemort," she said quietly. "He didn't know who it meant. When he realised Voldemort had decided that it referred to the Potters, he went to Albus and promised him anything if he would protect them. That was why he changed sides; to try and save them. He still loved Lily even though she had stopped speaking to him years before that, and he owed James a life debt even though they hated one another."

Molly lifted a hand to her mouth. "Oh, that poor boy. No wonder he was the way he was. How it must have eaten at him..." She blinked. "No wonder he always hated Harry."

Hermione nodded again. "Yes. Harry reminded him of everything he had lost, and everything he had done wrong. That grief and guilt dragged at him for decades. He couldn't put it behind him until Voldemort was dead and he was finally free to live his own life."

They were both silent for a while, thinking about it. Molly finally shook her head slowly. "I always knew that he was going through far more than I could possibly imagine, but... I had no idea it was so bad."

"Nobody did. Albus was the only one who knew the full story; Severus insisted that he never tell anyone else. And frankly I think he kept a lot of things secret even from Albus." Hermione smiled faintly. "The stubborn, foolish man was determined to go through it all completely alone."

"That sounds like the man I remember," Molly agreed, smiling in turn. "It hurt his pride to have to accept so much as a cup of coffee."

"It still does. He takes the concept of independence to a whole new level." She grinned and reluctantly stood up. "I'd better be going. It might be my birthday, but I still have to work; I've got to teach in an hour. Thank you, Molly."

"Not at all," the other woman assured her, standing as well and enveloping her in a motherly hug. "I look forward to seeing the both of you. Give Severus my love, won't you? It will make him scowl, no doubt, but do it anyway."

Hermione started to laugh, well able to imagine his expression. "I will. Thanks again. We'll see you at Christmas."

* * *

"Oh, thank Merlin," Neville greeted her as soon as she entered the staff room later that day, which was empty save for him.

Hermione blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"Sorry. Happy birthday; your present is in my office. But seriously, I'm glad to see you. Have you and Snape had a row or something?"

She frowned, confused by the question. "No. Why?"

Neville shook his head. "He's been absolutely dreadful all day; I've not seen him in such a foul mood since he taught us. Snarling at everyone, giving out punishments like sweets... I just assumed you must have had a fight with him or something."

Wincing, she shook her head. "No, but I did sort of sneak out this morning to go and see Molly and Arthur. I think maybe I should have warned him that I wouldn't be around today..." It appeared that she had accidentally spoiled some sort of plan. Or maybe Severus was simply in a bad mood for an unrelated reason, she told herself hopefully, although she doubted it.

He nodded. "I think maybe you should have, too," he agreed, smothering a grin. "If this is what he's like when you're gone for a few hours, you're going to have to chain yourself to him," he added, "or it's going to be a total bloodbath around here."

She made a face at him. "Very funny."

"I'm serious, 'Mione. If he needs you around to keep him vaguely human, you stay close to him – I'll cast the Permanent Sticking Charm myself if I have to."

Giving him a level look, Hermione grinned in sudden mischief as a happy – and undeniably evil – thought struck her. "Just for that, Neville," she said sweetly, "I'm going to leave you with the mental image of what Severus and I might do if we were spending time together and chains were involved. Have fun."

His face turned green as she left the room, stifling her giggles behind her hand as she headed to her classroom.

* * *

_It's about damned time, Severus. Honestly.  
_


	35. Chapter 35

_Now, quite a bit happens in this one.__  
_

* * *

**"****If you knew how lonely my life has been  
And how long I've felt so low  
If you knew how I wanted someone to come along  
And change my life the way you've done **.**"**  
– Chantal Kreviazuk, 'Feels Like Home'.

* * *

It was quite late by the time she made it back to the dungeons, where she found Severus working his way through a pile of essays. Greeting him cheerfully, she was rewarded by him looking up just long enough to scowl at her before returning his glare to the parchment in front of him. "You're back, then, are you?" he asked coolly. He didn't seem as angry as Neville's description had suggested, presumably because he had spent most of the day venting his feelings on everyone around him and burning off some of his temper, but he was very clearly not happy with her, and she winced before answering as lightly as she could.

"Well, that's friendly. And obviously, yes, I'm back."

He looked up and sneered. "Oh, excuse me; _happy birthday. _Is that better?"

Hermione sighed. "Severus, it wasn't even six in the morning when I left. I chose to let you sleep in."

"I didn't want to sleep in," he informed her somewhat sullenly, and she suppressed a smile. He wasn't truly angry, at least not any more; he sounded far too petulant for that. He was certainly more than capable of sulking extensively when he was upset, but not quite this melodramatically.

"Am I to take it that I disrupted some nefarious plot of yours, then?" she asked teasingly.

He huffed out a breath. "Well, it hardly matters now, does it?"

Biting her lip to hold back a grin, she crossed the room to stand behind him and quite deliberately ruffled his hair, well aware that it annoyed him. "You know, you're positively adorable when you're in a snit." He growled wordlessly and jerked his head away, glaring at her again; this close, she could see the faint gleam of reluctant amusement in his eyes, and fought off giggles. Briskly pushing between him and the desk, she installed herself in his lap, sliding her arms around his neck. "So come on, tell me all about these plans that I unwittingly interrupted..."

"Hmph. I fail to see why I should. Also, I'm working."

She batted her eyelashes at him and went into her very best impression of Lavender Brown at her most nauseating; "Because you love me, Sevviekins."

He stared at her impassively for a long moment, all expression fading from his face, before informing her levelly, "If you _ever_ call me anything like that again, I promise you, I will invent a brand-new hex especially for you that will ensure you can never pick up a book again for the rest of your natural life – unless I think of a worse punishment."

Losing the battle with mirth, she started laughing. "Sorry! That was rather ghastly, wasn't it? The point still stands, though."

"One could argue that it is open to debate at this point," he muttered, with no sincerity whatsoever. "Impossible woman."

"Yep," she agreed cheerfully. "I am genuinely sorry if I spoiled anything, though," she added more seriously, drawing back enough to look at him.

Giving in, Severus stopped pretending to be working and sat back more comfortably in his chair, looping his arms loosely around her waist. "It was nothing that won't keep. We have both been working today, after all, which rather limited the options."

"True," she agreed quietly, happily snuggling closer against him and resting her head on his shoulder; she was pleased that she had apparently been forgiven. "Did you have to take it out on everyone else, though?"

"Hmm?"

"Neville tells me you've been in a lovely sunny mood all day. It got quite bloody, I understand."

"Oh. That." He sounded a little uncomfortable now, and Hermione lifted her head to look at him quizzically.

"That's not why you were in such a bad mood? What, then? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, but he was avoiding her eyes now. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Severus?"

He sighed, fidgeting slightly in his chair, before closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at her; when he finally did reply, his voice was blank and emotionless in the way she hated so much. "I did not expect to wake up alone. I was not prepared for my reaction," he said tonelessly.

Sitting straighter in his lap, Hermione stared at him for a moment, before reaching out gently to push his hair back from his face so she could see him. He opened his eyes as she did so, but they were utterly unreadable now, and she sighed. "Stop Occluding on me, Severus, please. You know I don't like it. What do you mean? You've woken up without me plenty of times."

He fidgeted again. "I know that."

"So why was it so different this time?" she asked gently. She didn't like pushing him like this, but she really didn't understand, and she wanted to make sure this didn't happen again because clearly he was actually quite upset. Besides, it was time that he started getting used to talking about his emotions a bit more.

After a long moment, he sighed again and looked at her with obvious reluctance. "I simply wasn't expecting it, that's all. If we sleep apart, I know you won't be there, and I can cope with that. Previously when you have woken before me you've only been in the bathroom or the living room, or I've known that you had a morning meeting or something. This morning I didn't know where you were, and... it threw me a little." His arms tightened briefly around her waist. "I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want to sound as though I always need to know where you are every second of the day, or anything so extreme. I'm not _that _possessive."

"I know," she replied reassuringly, buying herself time to think as she tried to understand what he had told her. "Are you really so insecure, still?" she asked softly after a while, looking at him.

Blinking, Severus shook his head hastily. "That's not what I meant. No, I didn't think you'd left me, or anything stupid like that. I trust you more than that." He huffed in soft frustration. "It wasn't that. I don't really understand why such a small thing bothered me so much. It shouldn't have done." After a brief pause he added quietly, "I just don't like waking up alone. I've done it for far too long."

Relaxing, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder again, relieved that the problem wasn't anything too earth-shaking. They could cope with this, especially since Severus himself admitted that it was a little daft. "Next time, I'll leave a note telling you where I've gone. It shouldn't happen often anyway. I quite like waking up with you, after all," she added teasingly, drawing back enough to see his face, and she was reassured to see the shadow of a smile in his dark eyes in response.

"You don't need to humour me. Now that I know how much it bothers me, I'll watch my temper."

"I'm not humouring you. I did feel a bit guilty about sneaking off this morning. I wouldn't be too happy to wake up and find that you'd vanished. It might be irrational and silly, but that doesn't make it any less true. So I'm sorry about that."

"As am I," he conceded after a moment, his mouth curving upwards at one side into a slightly rueful half-smile; crisis averted, it seemed.

Hermione grinned at him, reassured. "And absolutely none of your mood today was due to your being grumpy because it's one of the few mornings in the last year that we haven't had sex as soon as we woke up?" she asked mischievously. It was true, though – if a morning did pass without them making love in bed before getting up, it was only because they did so in the shower after getting out of bed.

He chuckled softly. "Well, that didn't help," he conceded, his eyes glittering. She remembered a couple of months ago idly telling him that most relationships generally cooled down after the first few months of obsessive passion, as couples grew more comfortable with one another and sex became less important; Severus had given her a blank look and asked why in a tone of such honest confusion that she had started to laugh. Clearly she didn't ever have to worry that her man would someday get bored or no longer find her as attractive as he had done at first, which was nice to know. To be honest, Hermione had to admit she was every bit as addicted to him as he seemed to be to her.

"I'll make it up to you," she assured him now, before asking, "So where's my present, then?"

"Who says you have one?" he retorted.

"Well," Hermione remarked thoughtfully, slowly stroking a finger down his chest, "I'm counting you as a present, so – assuming you did get me something – I actually have two from you."

"You're rather taking me for granted, here," he complained mildly.

"Absolutely; I'm also using you shamelessly – or I will be, later," she added boldly, smiling at the flicker of heat that flared in his black eyes in response. "You are incredibly hard-done-by and I'm sure everyone would feel very sorry for you if they knew the kind of abuse you suffer. Now stop pouting and talk to me."

He raised an eyebrow, before leaning around her to look at the clock. "Unfortunately, I am on patrol tonight," he informed her, "so you are – to coin a vulgar phrase – shit out of luck. Now let me up before I throw you on the floor."

She smiled slowly at him and quite deliberately shifted position in his lap. "Oh, I don't know; that sounds rather like fun to me..."

Finally the last vestiges of his stern mask cracked, his lips twitching as his eyes danced. "Enough, you insatiable wench; get off me." Reluctantly she slid out of his arms and allowed him to stand up, watching in some disappointment as he pulled on his teaching robe over his more casual clothing and headed for the door. Pausing, he dug into his pocket and produced a small box, tossing it to her. "Here; happy birthday, my insufferable know-it-all."

"Thank you, my snarky git," she told his back, as the door closed behind him. Commandeering his chair, she settled at his desk with the neatly wrapped box, and smiled as Crookshanks appeared seemingly from nowhere to jump into her lap and sniff at it curiously. "Nosy cat," she rebuked him gently, stroking his ears. "Seems you're all the company I have this evening. Want to help open it?" Purring, he sat and lifted a paw, lightly batting at the box before extending a claw and surprisingly carefully shredding the paper along one edge. "Thank you," she told him gravely, peeling the paper away and opening the box.

"...Bloody hell," she whispered when she could breathe again, staring down at the glittering chain. At first glance she thought that the bracelet was silver, but closer inspection proved it to be a blend of silver, white gold, and true platinum, looped and twisted fantastically together in a beautifully artless tangle of unbelievable complexity. Her eyes grew confused trying to follow it, but after a moment she began to notice patterns concealed in the rippling metal, very old symbols that predated most runic languages. There were symbols for eternity and love, but also power, protection and strength, and the bracelet virtually hummed against her skin with the magic woven into it. "Bloody _hell,_" Hermione repeated weakly as she held it up, watching the odd way the light glittered off it.

There was no way he could afford this. She had never even seen something this complex and powerful; when she cast a simple charm to detect the spells laid on it, the resulting flares almost blinded her. Every single link had magic woven through it in layer upon layer; mostly they were protection charms, or charms to detect hostile magic, but she was certain there was blood magic threading through it as well. She couldn't help wondering what on earth he thought she would need it for; the sheer amount of magic in this would have stopped a giant cold.

"God, Crooks," she whispered to the half-Kneazle. "It's beautiful... but there's absolutely no way he could afford anything like this. You could virtually empty Gringotts and not get enough gold for something like this. What has he done?" Crookshanks sniffed the bracelet thoroughly and began to purr in evident approval; frowning slightly, Hermione stared down at her familiar before regarding the bracelet pensively. "Unless... C'mon, Crooks, I want to check something." She stood and scooped the cat into her arms, tucking the bracelet into her pocket for the moment before heading for Severus' lab.

She was greeted by stark emptiness, in the main; in fact, it was almost unnaturally tidy, save for one bench. A neat stack of books bristling with markers was piled up next to a thick notebook, and scraps and shavings of glittering metal littered the work-stained surface. As she suspected, all the bookmarks were in sections on crafting jewellery or laying protective enchantments. A single piece of paper fell out of the notebook when she picked it up; she scanned the spiky handwriting and burst out laughing.

_Happy birthday, nosy cow; satisfied? S._

Still laughing, she picked Crookshanks up once more and hugged him, muffling her giggles in his thick fur. "That man will be the death of me, Crooks, I swear. Bastard that he is; sneaky, underhanded, sexy bastard..." She took the cat back upstairs and let him settle in his favoured chair by the fire before slowly fastening the bracelet around her wrist; somehow she wasn't really surprised when it moved and tightened to a perfect fit. It looked like it should be spiky and jagged, but she very much doubted anything would ever get caught on it. Spiky and smooth at the same time, much like the man who had made it, she reflected. "Bastard," she muttered again, fondly, as she watched the light sparkle off it; after a moment she made an impulsive decision and headed for the door.

Despite what many people thought – usually guilty students who were utterly horrified to encounter the Potions master apparently materialising out of thin air at the worst possible moment – Severus' night patrols weren't random. There was a pattern to his movements that allowed him to cover most of the castle relatively quickly. No student had ever cracked it – including Hermione in her own student days – but lazy nights last year spent with her cat and the Marauder's Map had allowed her to puzzle out the sequence eventually.

As she hurried upwards from the dungeons, she was calculating rapidly in her head, working out how long Severus had been gone and how fast he was likely to be walking as well as the probability of his encountering anything that would delay him. Reaching a conclusion, she set off quickly for the fourth floor, utilising every secret passage he had ever shown her and happy to find that the castle approved – every staircase shifted in her favour.

She had timed it absolutely perfectly; as she moved around a corner into a long corridor, Severus was stalking towards her in full student-hunting mode, every line of his body screaming _predator_. He didn't look particularly surprised to see her, but then, he never did. Hermione walked towards him calmly, stopping when they met half way down the corridor and looking up at him. "Why, Professor Snape, fancy meeting you here," she remarked.

He arched an eyebrow, looking down his hooked nose at her. "Out past curfew, Miss Granger?" he drawled. "I trust there is a reason for this?"

It took everything she had to suppress her smile as she looked down demurely. "Indeed there is, Professor," she murmured. "There was something important that I wished to do."

"And it could not wait until morning?"

"No, Professor, it couldn't."

"What is the nature of this vital task that simply cannot wait?" he asked silkily. She didn't think either of them had moved, but he was somehow now standing very close to her indeed, close enough that she could smell him; the sheer force of his presence made her body tighten as she looked up into his eyes, darker than ever in the shadowy corridor.

"This," she murmured, rising onto her toes and reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair, drawing his head down for a kiss. They were in a wide corridor, a popular spot for troublesome students and thus for vigilant staff members, and she couldn't care less.

Evidently, nor could Severus; he responded with an intensity that caught her by surprise, pulling her forcefully against him as he prised her lips apart, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Melting against him, she shifted her weight and lifted her leg, wrapping it around his thigh and pulling him into her as she returned the kiss hungrily, moaning softly into his mouth as she felt his body responding to her.

When they finally broke apart for air, both of them were breathing a little raggedly. "I assume this means you liked your present?" he asked a little unsteadily, looking at her.

She held up her wrist; even in the dimness, the chain sparkled a little. "You are a genius. And a bastard; that note was rude."

"If you found it, you were snooping, which is also rude," he pointed out, smiling slightly and looking far too pleased with himself for her liking. Ignoring this, she tangled both hands in his hair again, more roughly this time, and dragged his mouth down to hers once more. Caught up in the kiss, the next thing she was aware of was the impact against her back as he pushed her against the wall, and she moaned again at the feel of him pressing tightly against her as his tongue explored her mouth and his hands began to wander.

Hermione knew, intellectually, that she should be stopping him. She should break the kiss, and laugh, and promise to meet him after his rounds, and leave him to vent his frustration on any student stupid enough to get caught. She should go back to the dungeons and be waiting for him when he got back. Apparently her intellectual side was not in control at the moment, since she found herself wantonly pulling up her skirt and fumbling with the buttons of his robes as he reached under them to unfasten his trousers, both of them breathing heavily.

Kissing and groping one another as they pushed their clothes aside, Severus groaned against her neck and bit softly as his hand slid beneath her skirt and between her legs, tugging her knickers to one side to sink his fingers into her; biting her lip to stifle her cry, she squirmed against his hand, digging her nails into his shoulder. He hesitated, lifting his head to look at her, apparently having just remembered where they were, and she glared at him. "Stop now and I will hex you," she hissed, clenching her muscles around his fingers.

He needed no further prompting and drew his hand away, sliding both hands over her body to cup her rear as he lifted her off the floor and pushed her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist as his body pinned her against the stone, realising dimly that her underwear appeared to have vanished entirely at some point in the past minute or two. Leaning back and bracing her shoulders against the wall, she reached between them and finished undoing his fly, her hands clumsy as she freed his erection from his clothes and squeezed him gently until he stifled a groan. "Hermione..." he growled, his voice thick with need and his eyes burning as he drew back just far enough to stare into her face. "Please..."

"Yes, Severus," she breathed, sliding her arms around his neck and moving against him almost desperately. His lips found hers once more and he ground himself against her, supporting her weight with one arm and bracing himself against the wall with the other; lifting her a little higher, he growled wordlessly and drove himself into her with a single hard thrust, burying himself completely inside her and pausing for a moment as his eyes closed. He shuddered, breathing raggedly, before shifting his grip and starting to move.

The risk of discovery was unbelievably high, and they coupled in almost complete silence, fighting back cries and moans as their breathing grew heavier. He was moving roughly, taking her hard, and it was exactly what she wanted in this moment as she moved with him and caught the harsh rhythm his body was setting, her back slamming against the wall with each desperate stroke. Muffling her cries against his neck, she heard him groan deep in his chest and shift his stance a little, driving into her even more roughly and catching just the right place; as the first tremors of her orgasm shook her, she heard him grunt as he choked back a sound and felt him climax violently even as her own pleasure roared through her.

Shakily Hermione leaned her head back against the cool stone, blinking slowly before looking at him as they started to disentangle themselves from one another. "Shit," she whispered. "God, Severus, I'm sorry. You should have said something – I know you hate having your neck bitten..."

Doing up his trousers with clumsily trembling fingers, he looked at her and raised an eyebrow, flushed and still panting. "You may have noticed how much I disliked it," he replied a little unsteadily, "since it was that which sent me over the edge."

She blinked at him, reaching up to gently touch the bruise already beginning to form between the two snakebite scars. "No panic?"

"No panic," he confirmed, smiling at her as he began to refasten his robes. His smile became a smirk. "Besides, it's surely my turn to walk around with a love bite. I certainly seem to do it to you often enough."

"True," she agreed, mock-glaring at him as she smoothed her skirt down and straightened her shirt. "Possessive and possibly-vampiric bastard. Have you left any visible marks this time?"

"I don't know." He looked around, and his lips twitched. "Ah." Bending, he picked something up and handed it to her solemnly; it turned out to be what remained of her knickers.

Shaking her head at him, she shoved them into her pocket; she didn't actually remember him tearing them off, but evidently he had. "Are you quite finished with your caveman impression?"

He snorted softly and looked himself over to make sure he was presentable. "You can't blame me for this. I was minding my own business, working. If you pounce on me in darkened corridors, you only have yourself to blame." Straightening, he winced a little and chuckled softly. "If you intend to make a habit of this, may I request that you remove your shoes next time, or at least wear different heels? The points were a little more pain than I am comfortable with."

"Then you should have said something."

"I didn't notice at the time," he replied, smirking again and rubbing the injury a little ruefully.

"Well, I'm probably going to have a few interesting bruises from the wall, so don't whine," she told him heartlessly, smiling and reaching up to draw his head down for a gentle kiss. "Besides, if you complain too much, I might stop assaulting you in the corridors, and wouldn't that be a dreadful shame?"

"I don't believe I was complaining," he responded, kissing her equally gently in return before drawing away to give her an almost impish smile. "Happy birthday."

Falling into step beside him as he continued with his interrupted patrol, Hermione linked her fingers through his. "I adore the bracelet," she told him softly as they walked the darkened corridors. "It's beautiful, and powerful. What gave you the idea?"

He chuckled quietly and squeezed her fingers. "It started as a silver Celtic knot-work bracelet. I started laying one or two basic charms on it, and modified the pattern a bit. Then I added the white gold and platinum to anchor other spells, and changed a bit more of the pattern to incorporate the new metals, and added one or two slightly more complex spells... I got a little carried away, I believe. It is actually very interesting work once you get started."

Laughing softly, she looked up at him. "Well, it's gorgeous, anyway. Thank you."

"You are welcome. Especially if you thank me like that."

She smothered a giggle. "God, that was actually incredibly stupid. What if we'd been caught?" Under normal circumstances, of course, Severus would have known instantly if anyone was in the vicinity, which was a little unfortunate for any student breaking curfew when he was on patrol, since it gave him a decidedly unfair advantage, but he had been rather distracted tonight.

He looked amused. "That's why memory charms were invented."

"You're not allowed to hex the students, Severus, remember?"

"It would be for their own good," he replied, his lips twitching. "I suspect every last one of them would choose memory modification over remembering the sight of two of their teachers..."

"...Rutting like animals against a wall?" she suggested, fighting not to laugh.

His eyes danced with mirth. "Romantically put, my dear," he agreed sarcastically. "You really have been spending too much time with me."

"I'll take my chances." She squeezed his hand. "It really was stupid, though, wasn't it? Not that I'm complaining – it was fantastic. But still a bit stupid."

He hummed vague agreement, although she suspected he was agreeing with the 'fantastic' part of her statement rather than the 'stupid' part. "Perhaps," he conceded lazily, not seeming particularly bothered.

* * *

The rest of September passed in a blur of activity, as it usually did, and the lull at the beginning of October was a welcome relief. All the staff seemed hard pressed, and the staff room was unusually quiet, except for the usual petty squabbles.

The first Saturday in October was the day that had been set aside for the Ministry visit; with the older students mostly in Hogsmeade, the castle was as quiet as it was ever going to be, as the staff had unanimously refused to sacrifice any holiday time whatsoever. Severus had made a valiant attempt to persuade Hermione to stay in bed today; he was very convincing, and she was very tempted to give in, but finally the two of them were up and dressed and reluctantly slouching towards the staff room to be, in Severus' words, 'patronised by spotty teenagers masquerading as Aurors and pompous Ministry bureaucrats deluding themselves into believing that they have any sort of real power or authority.'

"You're in rare form this morning," Hermione congratulated him in her brightest, cheeriest and most irritating voice. "Sexual frustration really does improve your vitriol." He glared at her in response and increased his pace, reaching the door before her and not pausing chivalrously to open it as he usually did. Instead he stopped dead, squarely in the doorway, and didn't move.

"All right, you've made your point, grouch. Now let me in," she sighed, amused. When he didn't move, she frowned, noting the tension in his shoulders; he seemed to have stopped breathing, which was always a bad sign. "...Severus?" she asked softly, reaching up to touch his back; he flinched slightly when she touched him, and her frown deepened. He hadn't reacted to her touch like that in a very long time.

Finally she heard him draw a deep breath before he moved forward in a stiff-legged stalk that held none of his usual grace, heading rapidly for his usual corner. Nervous now – whatever could have made him react like that, it couldn't be good – Hermione followed him in, and as soon as she saw the other occupants of the room she understood his shock. Staring into a pair of very familiar green eyes, she said calmly, "Hello, Harry."

"Hello, 'Mione," he greeted her brightly, coming forward with a broad smile that looked a little desperate and seizing her in a hug. He whispered frantically in her ear, "I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea I'd be on this until this morning. I really didn't have time to send a warning. Tell him I'm sorry, too," with barely a pause for breath, before letting go of her and grinning. "This is a nice surprise, I hope?"

"It's a surprising surprise," she replied with a deadpan expression before smiling at him. "You know I never like surprises, Harry."

He held his hands out helplessly. "Not my fault, I swear. I only found out I was coming this morning. The higher-ups thought it would be nice for me to visit."

"Socialise on your own time, Potter," one of the Ministry figures growled, trying hard to sound intimidating and tough. "We've got a lot to get through this morning." It might have worked better had he not only been about five foot six.

Harry rolled his eyes comically and stepped back to his place against the wall. Hermione took her seat, glancing at Severus; his face was as expressionless as she had ever seen it, his eyes blank and empty. Had things gone according to plan, he would have had plenty of warning before he had to meet Harry and could have prepared himself; suddenly coming face to face with him had clearly not done him any good at all. The last time he and Harry had laid eyes on one another, Severus had been dying, and had wanted a last glimpse of Harry's mother's eyes before he died; it left the atmosphere in the room more than a little awkward.

Neither of the men in Ministry robes bothered to introduce themselves, merely tersely asked everyone to take their seats and be called forward in alphabetical order to sit in the chair that had been set up at one end of the room. Severus spoke for the first time, his eyes now fixed intently on the chair; even his voice sounded empty. "That is the Chair of Judgement from the Wizengamot's trial chambers."

"Recognise it, do you, Snape?" the short man said. "The chains have been disabled, temporarily. No need to panic." Severus very slowly turned his head and pinned the man in place with the full force of his stare.

Clearing his throat uneasily, his colleague continued speaking, explaining the detection charm that had now been set up by Harry; a ball of blue light would hover over the left shoulder of whoever sat in the chair. If they lied, it would turn red. They were not legally required to answer the questions, but were urged to do so in the spirit of friendly co-operation – a phrase that brought snorts from several of those present, Hermione included, and had Harry rolling his eyes from his place by the wall.

The interrogation – that was what it was, no matter what spin they tried to put on it – turned out to be very long and very tedious. Hermione stole Severus' newspaper and started to do the crossword; Neville started marking essays; most of the others began quiet conversations, ignoring whoever was in the chair at the time. Severus was now staring at the wall, his eyes somehow hollow; whatever he was seeing, he wasn't enjoying it.

"Granger," the short man called after what seemed like hours – and in fact probably was. Hermione sighed theatrically and put down the paper, crossing to the chair and sitting down as casually as she could. She didn't know what questions to expect; she had been too busy worrying about Severus to pay attention to Filius, who was the only current member of staff whose name was before hers alphabetically (well, except for Binns, but they hadn't bothered interviewing him, unsurprisingly).

"Full name and job title?"

"Hermione Jean Granger, Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And Order of Merlin, First Class," she added nastily with as much withering, contemptuous scorn as she could get into those five words – she really had been living with Severus too long; her tone would have curdled milk, and earned approving and faintly malicious smiles from all the Order members in the room (including Harry, who smirked behind his hand). Except for Severus himself, at least, still lost in his own bleak thoughts.

"Blood status?"

"Muggleborn." And how they even had the nerve to ask that question was beyond her. One, they already knew, and two, it wasn't remotely relevant.

"Date of birth?"

"September 19th, 1979."

"Parents' names and blood status?"

"Father, Dr John Granger, Muggle. Mother, Dr Helen Granger, née Lynton, Muggle."

"Next of kin?"

"My mother."

"Your current place of residence?"

"I live with my partner. I'm not going to give out his name and address without his consent." It wasn't often that she needed to refer to Severus like that, she reflected idly. _Lover _sounded a bit superficial, as if it was only about sex, and at his age he certainly didn't qualify as her boyfriend, although picturing his expression if she ever called him that was quite amusing ; he wasn't her fiancé or her husband. _Partner _sounded about right, though. She would have liked to know what Severus thought of the title, but she couldn't see him from here and she very much doubted that he was listening anyway.

"That is not your decision to make, Professor Granger. We will need his contact details."

"They aren't mine to give," she replied calmly. "And there's no point looking to my friends or my colleagues, either. They don't know where we live. I'm not going to give out his personal details without his permission." Although a small part of her was very tempted, just to see what Severus would do if anyone from the Ministry was suicidal enough to confront him on his home territory. At the very least they'd end up having to Obliviate dozens of Muggle tourists following a pitched battle in the middle of the caravan site, she suspected.

After a lot of grumbling, they seemed to accept this, at least for now, and moved on to other questions.

"Wand statistics?"

"Ten and three quarter inch, vine wood, phoenix feather."

"Boggart form, if known?"

"Exempt on the grounds of war trauma," Harry interjected from the wall as she hesitated, much to her relief; she wasn't entirely sure what her Boggart was, these days, but she strongly suspected it would involve Severus in some way and she had no desire to see it. She had enough upsetting memories about him as it was. Not to mention the fact that it would be something of a giveaway.

"Patronus form?"

About to tell them that it was an otter, Hermione paused and perversely decided not to make it easy for them, glancing towards Severus before spitefully answering in Latin. "_Lutra lutra._" One or two muffled snickers came from different corners of the room, followed by a flurry of whispers as some of the staff members hastily tried to recall the scientific Latin name for their own Patronus animals.

"Demonstrate, please," the wizard said after a strangled pause to look at his colleague; clearly neither of them recognised the scientific name.

"I didn't realise this was an exam," Hermione muttered sourly, picking up her wand. The chains hanging limply from the arms of the chair rattled slightly. "You know, this is a really creepy chair."

"It's supposed to be," Harry provided with a grin. "Dunno why we're using it here, but those were the instructions."

"Shut up, Potter," the Ministry official growled.

"Yes, _sir,_" Harry replied sarcastically, saluting.

Hermione grinned and lifted her wand, thinking about when she had woken up next to Severus earlier that morning. With his sleepy smile in her mind's eye, she murmured, "_Expecto patronum,_" and watched her familiar silver otter swirl gracefully in the air beside her before it faded.

The questioning continued, covering her exam results and other qualifications, her teaching history and so on; at least the whole Amortentia business appeared to have been dropped, which was probably just as well. She was reminded so powerfully of Umbridge interviewing the teachers in her fifth year – a memory apparently shared by her colleagues, who were all looking less than impressed – that finally she started to lose her temper. "I've had enough of this," she said conversationally. "Most of my life has been plastered all over the _Daily Prophet _for years anyway; if you're so interested, go and look it up. A lot of it was wrong, but that's your problem, isn't it? This is nothing more than a pointless waste of my valuable time, and I'm not going to indulge your employer's paranoia any longer."

Harry was grinning; his colleagues were sputtering. "Professor Granger, you agreed to co-operate with the Ministry!" one of them protested.

"And I have co-operated," Hermione replied shortly. "All this information is public knowledge anyway. I have better things to do. Minerva?"

"I quite agree, Hermione. Time to move on to Rolanda Hooch, I believe – let's get this farce over with. We _all _have better things to do."

* * *

"Snape," the man called at last. Hermione watched anxiously over the top of the newspaper as her lover stood stiffly and stalked over to the chair; if he was nervous, it didn't show. His eyes were still empty, and she hated seeing that dead, lifeless look again after so long. There was no visible trace of the man she knew.

"Full name and job title?"

"Master Severus Tobias Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." His voice too was lifeless, cold and flat; Hermione suspected that he was Occluding very strongly, hiding his thoughts and emotions even from himself. It was also noticeable that there was no mention of an Order of Merlin after his name – all their colleagues had followed Hermione's lead and listed theirs as scornfully as they could manage, those who had them.

"Blood status?"

"Half-blood."

"Date of birth?"

"January 9th, 1960."

"Parents' names and blood status?"

"Father, Tobias Snape, Muggle, deceased. Mother, Eileen Snape, née Prince, pureblood, deceased."

"Next of kin?"

"None."

"None?" the man repeated, sounding thrown by the unexpected answer.

Severus raised an eyebrow at him, a thread of distinct coldness cutting through the otherwise deadened tone of his voice. "None," he confirmed crisply. "I have no living relatives, nor am I married. I therefore have no legal next of kin."

"Do you have a will?"

"Yes."

"Who is the primary beneficiary?"

"Until I die, that is nobody's business but my own."

Nonplussed, the man exchanged a look with his colleague, before valiantly ploughing on with his next question. "Your current place of residence?"

"Hogwarts, obviously," Severus replied sarcastically. Evidently he had decided to forego brooding in favour of embarrassing the little man, although he was avoiding looking at the entire side of the room where Harry stood. He was also avoiding looking in Hermione's direction and from the stiff way he was holding himself he was apparently endeavouring to pretend that the chair he sat in wasn't there either.

"Your place of residence outside school?" the man asked through gritted teeth.

Severus gave him a very unpleasant smile. "Is none of your business."

"We need a place to contact you..."

"No, you don't," he replied shortly. "I am resident at Hogwarts for most of the year, and in the summer holidays I can be reached via the Headmistress in an emergency."

"I'm afraid that is not acceptable, Professor Snape."

"I'm afraid I don't care," he retorted. "The Ministry have absolutely no reason to need to contact me. If you ever do, you can write to me through the school as everyone else does."

His glare made it clear that the spirit of friendly co-operation was no longer present, if in fact it ever had been. The little man scowled, but apparently decided that he wasn't going to win if he pushed the matter; making an angry-looking note on his parchment, he sensibly moved on to the next set of questions.

"Wand statistics?"

"Twelve inch, rowan, dragon heartstring."

"Boggart form, if known?"

All the Order members to be interviewed had been exempted from this question because of their involvement in the war, but this time Harry bit his lip and kept silent, forcing Severus to curtly give the reason himself. "Exempt on the grounds of war trauma."

"Denied," the official said dismissively. "Boggart form?"

Severus bared his crooked teeth in nothing like a smile. "Don't be a fool. Enough of my history is public knowledge; consider the sort of thing I might fear. Do you want me to start describing it?"

"Severus, no making people vomit in my staff room," Minerva said absently from where she sat talking with Filius. "Not unless you clear it up. Without magic."

The two Ministry officials were looking distinctly off balance now, and withdrew for a hasty whispered debate, complete with some rather emphatic hand gestures. Eventually they seemed to concede the point, which Hermione privately thought was just as well; even Severus didn't know what his Boggart was, or so he said, but it was very unlikely to be anything harmless. It probably wouldn't be good for morale if Voldemort manifested in the middle of the staff room, or a werewolf, or a giant snake, or some bizarre combination thereof, and those were only the fears she knew about. Looking annoyed, the short man stalked forward to continue the questions.

"Patronus form?"

Severus lowered his head a little, just to make sure there was absolutely no way anyone could see his face as his hair swung forward. "_Vulpes alopecoides,_" he muttered tersely, his shoulders tensing at the rustle of movement throughout the room – most of those present knew about the doe, and several knew enough Latin to recognise that _vulpes _meant fox, although Hermione had never heard of the subspecies. She was glad that Harry already knew of the change; he would never have been able to hide his reaction otherwise. Idly she wondered what the scientific Latin name for deer was; she wasn't sure which species his Patronus had been. James' had been a red deer from its appearance, so presumably so had Lily's and therefore so had Severus'... _Pay attention, Hermione, _she scolded herself.

"Demonstrate."

The chains rattled again as Severus drew his wand, and he tensed further, his jaw tightening as he raised his head and stared blankly ahead of him, brows furrowed slightly in concentration. "_Expecto patronum,_" he growled after a pause, and the silver fox leaped from the tip of his wand. Hermione blinked; it was brighter and clearer than she had ever seen it. Apparently he had found a stronger memory to use. The fox turned neatly, somehow managing to swirl its brushy tail disdainfully in a manner reminiscent of Severus' robes, and dissolved slowly; it appeared to be sneering, and the sneer was the last thing to fade. _Like a really, really sinister version of the Cheshire cat, _Hermione decided, suppressing a smile.

Severus stood up abruptly, his eyes tightening a little as the chains stirred. "I've had enough now," he said flatly. "I have never particularly enjoyed being interrogated by you people, and just because this time you haven't drawn blood is no reason for me to tolerate it any longer. If you want to keep playing, you'll have to try to arrest me again, although I really don't recommend it. Good day to you all." He swept out of the room before anyone had a chance to stop him, leaving behind a very awkward and very tense silence.

"McGonagall, call him back," one of the men growled after a pause, trying hard to sound as though he was still in control of the situation.

The Headmistress snorted at him. "Don't be stupid, young man. He was your teacher in the not too distant past; I'm sure you recall how unlikely it is that he will listen. Besides, he has only said what everyone else is thinking, and I remember how he fared the last time he was in the tender care of the Ministry. I need a Potions teacher who is able to function far more than I need to keep the government happy. I think you've wasted enough of my staff's valuable time today with your pointless questions; I trust by now you have realised that none of us care enough to want to overthrow the Ministry?"

"We haven't finished interviewing yet..."

"Yes, you have," Hermione said grimly. There were a lot of war veterans in this room, and nobody had been asked to surrender their wands before questioning. She gave Harry a pointed look; he nodded slightly and looked around the room, grimacing faintly as he realised just how many people were on the brink of violence.

"Yeah, I think we're done here," he said after a moment, sighing and shoving his fingers through his hair. When his colleagues glared at him, he gestured at the room in general, and the two older wizards looked a little uncomfortable as they registered the number of hostile stares.

Minerva stood up, regarding them both with an expression of acute disdain. "My predecessors did not permit the Ministry to interfere at Hogwarts, and nor will I. Harry, dear, you're welcome to stay for a while – we see so little of you these days. As for your colleagues, however... Good day, gentlemen."

They both looked blankly incredulous, and Minerva's eyes hardened. "I said good day," she snapped. "I trust you both still remember the way out."

* * *

_I haven't said this in a while, but I love my anonymous reviewers as much as I do those with FFN accounts, even though I can't reply to you directly.  
_


	36. Chapter 36

_There's a bit of everything here, I think...__  
_

* * *

**"Sometimes, I want your hands inside my soul**  
** Sometimes, I start to lose grip and I let go**  
** Sometimes, I can taste your kiss on my tongue**  
** Sometimes, I'm afraid and I start to come undone **.**"**  
– Matthew Duffy, 'Until The End'.

* * *

Despite her best efforts, there was really no way to avoid spending time with Harry as the other staff members began discussing the questioning – not that it was Harry she objected to; she would simply far rather be making sure that Severus was all right.

"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked uncomfortably, keeping his voice down. "He looked like he'd seen a ghost when he saw me. I've never seen him look that shocked."

"You can't really blame him, Harry. He's been gearing up to meet you again eventually, but he wasn't expecting it today."

"No, I know. Like I said, it wasn't my idea, and I didn't have time to warn you. Why's he been planning on meeting me?" he asked curiously. "I mean, he still hates me, right?"

"Because he knows I want him to," Hermione replied calmly. "I haven't talked to him about how he feels about the idea in any depth yet, and after today I doubt I'll ever dare to raise the subject again, but sooner or later I'd like him to meet you all again. He's part of my life, and so are you, and I'm not going to keep you all separated forever. And no, he doesn't hate you. But think back to when you last saw him – when he sees you, I imagine he sees the Shack and Nagini again." She shrugged. "That bloody chair didn't help either; I think he was remembering when he was put on trial as a Death Eater after the first war."

Harry nodded slowly, accepting this. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked again.

"I don't know. You haven't driven him into a nervous breakdown, if that's what you're asking – even you would struggle to manage that. But he's certainly not going to be happy. I imagine he's quite upset at the moment and trying to deal with a lot of painful memories."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He might just be out in the grounds, but I doubt he's still here. I don't know all his hideouts – he might have gone home to think, or he might have gone somewhere else. Either way, I'm not expecting to see him again before morning – no, tomorrow's Sunday. I might well not see him again until Monday morning."

"Sorry."

"It was hardly your fault, Harry." She shrugged and smiled at him. "He'll be all right. He's just had a nasty shock today, and it's stirred up a lot of bad memories, that's all. Severus is strong; he'll cope."

"Yeah, but his way of coping usually involves making Neville cry," Harry pointed out mischievously.

"They're getting along better these days," Hermione replied dryly. "I think they genuinely respect each other."

"I can't believe Neville was so accepting of it, after everything Snape did to him."

"Snape didn't do much to me, really, when you think about it, if you don't count that last year when he was Headmaster," Neville himself replied cheerfully, coming to join them. "Most of it was all in my own head. All he ever really did was shout at me and sometimes give me gross detentions; I don't know why I was so frightened back then, now. And yeah, that last year was... really, really bad, but it wasn't his fault, I know that now. He didn't have a choice, and he was trying to keep us out of the worst of it. He's – well, I was going to say he's a decent guy, but he's not, really, is he?" he added with a laugh. Harry joined in, before stopping and giving Hermione a guilty look.

"What?" she asked, smiling fondly at the pair of them. "It's true; he isn't. I keep telling you, Harry – I love Severus, as he is, not some weird fantasy version of him. And he's not a decent guy; he's a bastard." She grinned. "But he's _my _bastard."

"Oh, that's a healthy relationship," Harry snorted, shaking his head. "I almost didn't recognise him, though, I have to say. He looks really different."

"In a good way, I trust?"

"What, you want me to say if your bloke's good looking or not?" he asked, grimacing as he tried not to laugh. "I don't think so, 'Mione." He looked at Neville. "Anyone here guessed yet?"

"Nope, just me," Neville said cheerfully. "Oh, and Madam Pomfrey, I think. Nobody else. I can't wait to see their faces when they find out."

"Try and tell me. I'll bring popcorn."

"When you're both quite finished," Hermione said dryly, smiling. "They're not likely to guess, anyway. It's not as if we walk around holding hands and snogging in the corridors..." Remembering her birthday, she fought not to blush, swallowing laughter. She hadn't been able to walk down that hallway since that night.

* * *

Bantering with her friends was all very well, but even if Severus had disappeared, she didn't want to stay away from the dungeons for too long. Today had been long and tiring and frustrating and she wanted time to sit and think in peace, and his quarters were the one place she was guaranteed to be undisturbed. She was very surprised to find that actually, Severus hadn't disappeared at all; he was pacing restlessly back and forth in the living room, looking uncomfortable and ill at ease and about as upset as she had ever seen him, watched by an anxious Crookshanks.

"I thought you'd have gone... wherever it is you go when you need to be alone to think," she said softly, watching him.

He shook his head jerkily. "I don't want to be alone right now," he muttered, sounding edgy and unhappy. "Too many thoughts."

That was probably the closest he would ever get to asking her to help him, Hermione considered as she moved to stand in front of him. He stared down at her with a world of complex emotions in his eyes, breathing unsteadily, and she smiled up at him gently before reaching to touch his face. He held himself absolutely motionless until she rose on tiptoe and drew his head down to kiss him; then it was as if a dam had burst somewhere inside and he pulled her to him almost desperately, kissing her with near-bruising force, biting at her lower lip before pushing his tongue into her mouth hungrily. His roughness caught her by surprise, but she responded without hesitation, knowing what he needed.

She wasn't going to let him make love to her in this state, she decided as she kissed him back; he was far too stressed and on edge to pay attention to what he was doing. She had no wish to spoil their perfect record, nor did she want to deal with his guilt when he calmed down and started thinking he had hurt her; equally, she didn't want to have to stop him from _actually_ hurting her, not that she thought that was terribly likely to happen. Reaching down as they kissed fiercely, she undid his trousers one-handed and slid her hand into his underwear to grasp him gently, feeling him shudder and press against her as his hands slid lower to pull her against him more tightly.

He was almost painfully hard as she held him in her hand, hot and throbbing with sheer male vitality, and his body trembled as she squeezed gently before beginning to stroke him. She could taste blood; someone's teeth had cut a lip somewhere, although she couldn't tell if it was her blood or Severus', or who had caused the damage. It didn't matter, though, not when he groaned desperately against her lips and started rocking against her, pushing his hips against her hand as his tongue thrust deeper into her mouth. He gentled the kiss then, pulling back enough to whisper indistinctly, "Please, Hermione..."

Squeezing and stroking, she increased the pressure slowly, kissing him again as she shifted her grip to tease his foreskin back gently. He growled and shoved more insistently against her hand and she took the hint – no teasing tonight. For once it seemed he didn't want gentleness, and he was already so close that she could feel the liquid on her fingers. Wrapping her hand around his shaft once more, she began working him more roughly and he groaned into her mouth again, thrusting against her grip and starting to shudder in the way she knew so well. "Come for me, Severus," she whispered against his lips, hearing his ragged breathing hitch in response. "That's it, love..."

He broke the kiss and threw his head back, his spine arching and his eyes closing; an almost convulsive shudder ran through him and he groaned thickly, before she felt him twitch in her hand and he came with a low cry, pulsing with each burst of fluid that escaped him. Letting go as he began to soften, Hermione smiled at him, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face with her clean hand. "Better?" she asked gently.

Always the gentleman, at least in sexual matters, he recovered himself enough to perform a wandless cleaning charm on both of them as his breathing began to slow down, and blinked slowly at her as his eyes cleared and softened into a smile. "Much." Bending his head, he kissed her gently. "You are amazing, Hermione."

"I know," she agreed smugly, smiling when he huffed a quiet laugh in response. "Are you all right now?"

He nodded slowly, doing up his trousers and looking much more relaxed. "Yes. There was just... too much going on in my mind. I needed to distract myself, to..." He smirked. "Relieve the pressure."

"So glad I could help," she told him dryly, laughing softly and leaning up to kiss him before moving away and crossing to the sofa. He followed and sat beside her, absently twining his fingers through hers, and she leaned against his shoulder. "_Vulpes alopecoides?_" she asked curiously. "I thought your Patronus was the red fox, _Vulpes vulpes._"

He shook his head. "Not quite, although the differences are very small. _Vulpes alopecoides _was the prehistoric ancestor of the modern foxes."

"Patronuses can be extinct animals?"

"Apparently so."

Interesting though that was, it wasn't what she really wanted to talk about right now. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she turned her head enough to see his face and asked quietly, "Were you remembering your trial?"

He nodded slowly. "Partly, yes; it was a frightening experience. Dumbledore didn't take the stand and testify on my behalf until the last possible moment, when it became clear that there was no other way; I thought I would be sent back to Azkaban to rot. But I dealt with those memories many years ago; most of my difficulty today was from Potter's presence."

"Was it so terrible, seeing him again?" she asked softly.

"'Terrible' isn't quite the right word, I don't think," he murmured, lounging more comfortably. "It was... a shock. For a moment I was... back in the Shrieking Shack. That moment when I realised he was going to kill me... I thought I'd failed. I was the only one alive who had the information Potter needed, and I'd die without being able to pass it on. I never expected to survive; I just wanted to live long enough to try and secure a victory for our side. And..." He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"I always secretly hoped to go out in a blaze of glory, to tell the Dark Lord to his lopsided reptilian face that I had been betraying him for years without his knowledge, to taunt him with the knowledge of his own stupidity. Realising that he was going to kill me just because I was no longer of any use to him, and wasn't even going to bother to do it himself – that he was merely going to feed me to that damned snake – was... rather disheartening. Even my death was going to be worthless. And then you three showed up," he added with such dry irony in his voice that she giggled.

"We were compelled to make your life hell, Severus. We couldn't even let you die in peace."

He snorted softly. "Now that, I can believe."

"Why did he choose Nagini?" she asked, remembering; she had wondered about this a lot. "If he needed to defeat you to gain mastery of the Elder Wand, just telling his snake to kill you wouldn't have done it, would it – would that have counted as a victory in a duel?"

He paused, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. I suppose, as Nagini was a Horcrux and therefore contained a piece of his soul, it might have counted as him defeating me... I hadn't really thought about it."

"How much do you remember?" Hermione asked softly, turning her head to look at him.

"All of it, I think." He shook his head and smirked at her. "If I didn't remember something, I wouldn't know, would I?"

She made a face at him. "Funny."

He shrugged and settled more comfortably. "No, I think I remember it all. I half-thought I was hallucinating at first – Potter was the one figure I needed to see in that moment, and he just _happened _to appear at the last minute. I was in absolute agony – it wasn't quite as bad as the Cruciatus, perhaps, but certainly bad enough – I was losing a lot of blood, the previous year had driven me half mad and I thought I'd failed, and then... there he was. I already knew I was dying; I didn't have time to think. The memories I gave him resolved themselves into chronological order in the Pensieve, but at first I only gave him the ones from Dumbledore that told him what he had to do and revealed how badly we had all been betrayed by the old man. That was all I planned to give him."

Severus paused and sighed. "Looking up at him, though... He absolutely hated me," he said softly. "He always had, really, and it was mutual most of the time, but in that moment he hated me more than he did the Dark Lord. After everything I had endured for his sake... it hurt, and I decided that I didn't want to be hated any more. I wanted people to know that I wasn't such a villain after all – I wanted them to know _why_ I was... the way I was. So I gave him the other memories. I meant to give him more, but I didn't have the strength. I wouldn't have done it had I known I was going to live, of course," he added clinically.

"Do you remember what happened next?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "I remember asking him to look at me, yes. I don't remember if he said anything after that – I remember meeting his eyes, and then it all went black. There were no visions of tunnels or white light and my life didn't flash before my eyes – which is just as well; seeing it once was bad enough."

"Why did you ask that?" Hermione asked him quietly. "Everyone thinks it was so you could see Lily's eyes before you died, but... I'm not convinced."

That earned her a soft smile. "Right as ever; of course it wasn't – do people really think that I am that melodramatic? Apart from anything else, I might have been dying but I wasn't hallucinating, and regardless of what everyone says, Potter does not have his mother's eyes. They are precisely the same colour, it is true, but they cannot be the same shape, because he has his father's features; his eyelashes are different, and those bloody stupid glasses of his ensured that even almost dead, I couldn't have mistaken his eyes for hers. And I was too afraid and too ashamed to wish to see Lily again, when I blamed myself for her death and for much of what her son had to endure. No, I was well aware that it was Potter I was looking at. I simply wished to remind myself of why I was there, why I had taken the actions that had led me to the floor of the Shack. I believe I was trying to decide whether it was worth it."

"And was it?"

"I don't know. I died before I reached a conclusion." He smiled slightly. "I do not remember anything after that."

"There wasn't much to remember," she replied slowly. "Your eyes were open, but you had stopped breathing and you had no pulse. Harry stared at you for a while, and then I told him that we had to go, and we left. By the time we went back, there was no sign of you – just a lot of blood and the pieces of your wand. The blood was drying and there was no trail – we couldn't work out what had happened, but... you were definitely dead when we left you. We'd all seen enough dead bodies by then to know what it looked like. And..." She trailed off uncomfortably, and he smiled.

"And you had far more important things to worry about than the eventual fate of Nagini's last meal," he finished dryly. "Quite understandable. I was hardly a priority – and it was easier all around if I was dead. No need for apologies or legal proceedings; just a moment of 'oh, poor misunderstood Snape, we were wrong' and then you could all get on with your lives."

"More or less, yes," she agreed sadly. "But it didn't take long before we started wondering. Your wand was a giveaway – you never drew it when you were speaking with the Dark Lord, it was in your pocket, so either it broke when you collapsed or it was broken after we had left you. Nobody would have bothered taking it out of your pocket if someone had taken your body, so it must have been you."

He nodded. "It snapped when I collapsed, I think," he agreed quietly. "I don't know why I left it behind. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was barely conscious and in a great deal of pain, I had lost a lot of blood and I was slightly drugged on a cocktail of my emergency potions. There may have been a reason, or I may simply have dropped it when I realised it was broken."

"The blood wasn't right either – there was a lot of it, but we weren't sure if it was enough to kill someone. We didn't know if it was blood loss or poison that had killed you –"

"Both," he interjected.

"– but there didn't seem to be enough blood. And there was no trail – if someone had dragged you, the blood would have smeared, and if you had been levitated it would have dripped. We couldn't think of a reason why someone would hide the signs if they had taken your body."

"I don't remember erasing a trail. I suppose my clothing must have absorbed enough of the blood that I didn't leave any tracks when I stood up, unless I managed to do it instinctively, or perhaps I managed to Apparate before I had time to make even more of a mess."

"Well, anyway, we wondered. And your portrait didn't appear – Harry spent a lot of time arguing with Dumbledore about that. He wouldn't confirm whether you would get a portrait or not."

Severus grimaced. "I will. I had forgotten about that. At least if I'm dead I won't have to see the bloody thing."

She rolled her eyes at him. "We had people checking your house every so often, just in case – when it was burned, we had a very long discussion over whether you would have done it if you were alive."

His lip curled. "If I were going to burn the place down, I would have done it long before that. And I had gone into hiding – an act of public arson would rather have defeated the point."

"We sort of thought that, but nobody was sure. And obviously whoever did it thought you were alive – there wouldn't be much point burning a house whose owner was dead, really." A thought occurred to her. "Do you know who did it?"

"How would I know that?"

"I thought you knew everything."

He smiled slightly. "Well, yes, there is that. No, I don't know who did it. I have my suspicions, but it hardly matters now." Pausing, he tilted his head a little and looked down at her speculatively. "I have wondered... What did you first think, when you saw the memories?"

She smiled at him. "You'd have been absolutely furious, Severus. I thought it was all very romantic and tragic and beautiful. I cried about it quite a lot." He gave her a disgusted look and she laughed at him. "I was only eighteen, Severus. And it was a _little_ bit of a romantic tragedy. And later, after Ron and I fell apart, I remember thinking about it again and thinking how beautiful that sort of loyalty was." She grimaced and gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, but I did."

He half-smiled and shook his head. "I suppose I am obliged to forgive you. And in case I haven't said this in a while, Weasley is a fool. He wasn't remotely good enough for you." He laughed softly. "Nor am I, of course, but I am a Slytherin and I see no reason to let that stop me."

Rolling her eyes, she snuggled closer against him. "Idiot. And possibly thank you. Why did you leave?" she asked him softly, turning to look up at him. "I know all the reasons, but..." She trailed off, not sure how to explain what she was asking, but as always he seemed to know.

"Partly it was fear – apart from the Dark Lord himself, I was the most hated wizard in the world at that point." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Possibly I still am. In any case, I had many enemies on both sides who were bound to be looking for me, and I had committed more than enough crimes to earn several death sentences with the Dementor's Kiss on top. But the main reason was simply that I didn't want that life any more. I didn't want to be Severus Snape any more. I wasn't really sure that I wanted to live at all, but I knew I didn't want to stay while I decided."

Hermione leaned against his shoulder. "Do you want to be Severus Snape now?" she asked teasingly.

He smirked. "Well, his life does seem to have improved marginally since then," he conceded.

"You deserved so much better, Severus. Right from the start, you deserved better."

"Perhaps. But one could argue that I also deserved worse, by the end." He slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer against him. "I regret many things about my life, Hermione, but I do not believe I could have acted differently at any point without altering the final outcome, and whilst many people were partly to blame for most of my mistakes, the final choices were always mine. Besides..." His eyes softened in his familiar almost-smile. "I am happy."

She rested her head on his chest. "I've waited so long to hear you say that, Severus." Trying not to giggle, she added, "Stubborn bastard. You could have admitted it a long time ago."

He chuckled softly. "I needed to be sure. I am hardly familiar with happiness, after all." Hugging her, he added quietly, "Thank you."

"What for?"

He shrugged slightly. "Everything, really," he replied simply.

* * *

October drew to a close; ever since the Ministry's visit, it had rained almost without pause, and everything seemed grey and gloomy. Except, oddly, Severus' mood; Hermione had been watching him closely, but he appeared calmer and more relaxed than she had ever seen him for longer than a few minutes at a time. From what she had seen and heard he was his usual venomous self in lessons and in front of their colleagues, but when it was just the two of them he really did seem... happy. And while that was lovely to see, it was also quite unusual, especially at this time of year.

After the third morning in a row when he woke to find her watching him speculatively, he seemed to lose patience. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he glared at her sleepily. "What?" he demanded.

Hermione blinked at him. "Sorry?"

"You've been watching me for days, woman. What's the matter?"

"I just wondered if you were all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because it's Halloween in two days," she pointed out, and he blinked, frowning; the irritated scowl faded into a more thoughtful expression, and he lay back against the pillows, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his thigh.

"So it is," he murmured pensively. "I had... almost forgotten."

"No nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No dreams at all, not about... that, although I seldom recall my dreams in any case. Hmm."

"It's not a bad thing, Severus," she said gently, moving to snuggle closer against him. "Really, there were so many bad occasions that I expect every day is the anniversary of something terrible. It's impossible to remember everything – that's why the summer memorial service started, after all. And you gave so many years of your life to the war, it's about time you claimed it for yourself again, isn't it?"

He yawned. "I don't know why you're assuming I would feel guilty," he murmured, "when everyone knows I lack a conscience."

She snorted at him and sat up slowly. "Fool of a man; stop being an arse and get up – staff meeting this morning, remember?"

"How delightful," he replied sourly, rolling his eyes at her with a hint of a smirk before reluctantly sliding out of bed.

As they dressed and got ready for the day, Hermione was debating with herself, mulling over something that she had wanted to ask him for months and had never really found the right time to do so. "Severus?"

"I know that tone," he said, rather more warily than was really called for, giving her a mock-hunted look. "What have I done now?"

"You're not as funny as you think you are, you know," she told him dryly. "I want something from you. And if you smirk, I'm going to smack you," she added warningly.

By the look on his face, it was taking quite a lot of effort, but he kept his expression neutral; there was a glitter of clear amusement in his black eyes as his lips twitched, but he was behaving himself, more or less. "What?"

"A memory."

The amusement faded as he blinked before cocking his head slightly to one side and giving her a quizzical look. "Which one?" he asked slowly.

"France." He hesitated, and she raised an eyebrow. "Don't even think of pretending not to know which memory I mean. I want to know what you and my parents were saying."

His lips twitched. "You couldn't work it out?"

"Not from my memory. I don't speak French well enough to remember the words clearly. It was mostly gibberish. Please, Severus."

He looked away from her as he thought about it; his expression was somewhere between amused and uncertain, which Hermione interpreted to mean that he found it funny that she still didn't know but wasn't sure how she was going to react. It couldn't have been anything too extreme, he didn't look worried enough for that, but he clearly didn't want to tell her.

Finally he sighed, glancing briefly at the clock before looking at her once more, neutral and expressionless now – he wasn't Occluding in the way she so hated, merely guarding his expression. "As you wish," he said resignedly, moving to stand in front of her and meeting her eyes. "_Legilimens._"

Hermione watched the conversation in her parents' kitchen again, watched herself asking cheerfully whether that was all the questions and watched her father turn to Severus; Severus' own voice spoke over the top in English, translating for her. "_You know what we really want to ask you._"

The memory-Severus tensed. "_Yes._"

"_Well?_"

The pause was longer than it had been in real life; she could sense that Severus really didn't want to do this. His voice was very quiet when he started translating again. "_She saved me. She is... everything. I barely believe this is real._"

"_Will you protect her?_"

"_I doubt she needs someone to protect her._"

"_Are you good enough for her?_" Hearing Severus' deep and undeniably masculine voice while watching an image of her mother talking was really quite weird, Hermione decided, a little in shock over what had already been said – this hadn't been what she was expecting.

Severus laughed softly as he replied; the current Severus sounded quite amused as well as he translated. "_No! But it is not my choice. She is very stubborn._" She would have liked to protest that, but he did have a point.

In the memory, her parents glanced at one another thoughtfully. "_Care for her._"

There was another pause that hadn't happened at the time, before Severus somewhat reluctantly translated the final sentence. "_I would die for her._"

He ended the memory very suddenly, and it took Hermione a moment to get her bearings again; Legilimency always left her feeling slightly disorientated. "Was that really so difficult?" she chided him gently, trying not to smile – it might not have been what she was expecting, but it had certainly been nice to hear.

"Yes," Severus replied flatly with a faint huff of breath. When she frowned and looked at him, he gave her a crooked half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Even now, part of me is panicking in case you take it badly."

"Oh, Severus..."

"I know it's stupid," he interrupted her, sounding annoyed – with himself rather than her, fortunately, judging by his expression. "I know you better than that, and I do trust you completely. But I still worry, sometimes. I can't help it, no matter how irrational it is."

She had always known that he was terribly insecure, and she knew that he had been trying very hard to change the habits of a lifetime and stop always expecting the worst to happen. It was a little disappointing to learn that he wasn't quite there yet, but she knew it wasn't a conscious thing – he did have faith in her, in _them, _no matter what the little voice at the back of his mind might say. Shaking her head, Hermione smiled at him. "You can be such an idiot, sometimes," she told him affectionately.

His eyes softened in response. "Believe me, I know that," he replied dryly. "Come on. We're going to be late."

"You were right," she mused as they headed up the stairs from the dungeons. "I did already know."

"Hmph," he replied, before smirking at her. "Be honest – that wasn't what you thought it would be, was it?"

"No," she muttered.

His black eyes danced. "You thought your parents were interrogating me about my intentions, despite your warning them not to."

"How do you know I warned them off?"

"Because I know you," he replied with a snort, his lips twitching.

"All right, smart arse, you win – I thought they were asking if you were ever going to make an honest woman of me."

"Where would be the fun in that?" he asked, straight faced, his eyes glittering again. His expression became more serious as he cocked his head to one side. "Would you particularly want to be married to me?" he asked carefully in a thoughtful tone of voice.

Hermione blinked at him. "If that was your idea of a proposal, I may have to lose my temper," she said after a moment, grinning when he smiled slightly in response, before shaking her head. "Maybe, someday, I suppose, but it doesn't really seem all that important, somehow. I was never the kind of girl who dreamed of her perfect wedding. We've got lots of the trappings already, and I don't need a piece of paper to know that you're not going anywhere. I don't think you really care one way or the other, as long as we're together, and nor do I. And neither of us wants the world to know."

He nodded agreement. "Just making sure," he told her enigmatically as they reached the staff room, holding the door open for her.

The staff meeting was more of a general gossip to identify any potential problems than anything else. It ended with Minerva asking for suggestions for more school-wide celebrations and excuses for parties; they only really celebrated Christmas and Halloween, and vaguely acknowledged Valentine's Day, Easter and New Year's Day.

"Well, it'll be Bonfire Night soon," Hermione suggested absently, and got a lot of blank looks in response, reminding her sharply that she was the only Muggleborn in the room. "November 5th? Guy Fawkes night?" she tried. The blank stares continued, and she sighed, preparing to explain. A cool voice interrupted her.

"In the 1600s, a group of Muggles led by a man named Guy Fawkes were caught attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament – the home of the Muggle Ministry. They were tried for treason and he and many of his co-conspirators were executed in fairly gruesome ways. The successful prevention of the plot has become an excuse for large firework displays and bonfires every year, often involving the burning of effigies of Fawkes."

Now everyone in the room was staring at Severus, who rolled his eyes. "Merlin save us from pure-blood ignorance," he said caustically. "Did none of you ever wonder who Dumbledore named his phoenix after?"

Apparently, no, nobody had. The Potions master shook his head, sniffed disdainfully and returned his attention to his newspaper, leaving Hermione to start explaining the sort of celebrations Muggles enjoyed on Bonfire Night.

* * *

Halloween passed without incident, which was unusual. As far as she could tell, Severus didn't have a single nightmare, and his mood was unchanged, meaning he was merely his usual prickly self rather than the truly hateful man she'd seen this time last year. After some thought, Minerva had decided that Hogwarts should fund a firework display in Hogsmeade; at Hermione's suggestion, the fireworks had come from George, after she had extracted a promise not to use any rude or dangerous ones.

She stood with Severus now, watching the coloured lights reflecting in the depths of his dark eyes and laughing softly. "I haven't been to a proper firework display since before Hogwarts."

He nodded. "It has been many years since I have done so," he agreed. Smiling slightly, he drew his wand and solemnly Summoned a pair of sparklers, handing one to her. Trying not to giggle, she lit it and began to move it around, watching the patterns streaking the darkness.

"I remember being really disappointed that I couldn't write my name with a sparkler," she said reflectively. "It was too long. I never got more than four or five letters before it faded." She grinned at him. "Did you have the same problem?"

His lips twitched as he watched his own sparkler; she was positive that he was the only man in the world who would draw the Futhark runic alphabet with a sparkler. Then again, she was probably the only woman in the world who would recognise what he was doing. "Actually, yes," he admitted softly. "Fireworks were quite rare when I was young, and nowhere near as advanced as they seem to be now, but we did sometimes have a few sparklers and firecrackers."

"The image of you as a little boy with a sparkler is ridiculously cute," she told him, drawing a heart with her own sparkler and smiling as he scowled at her. "Then again, you look quite cute with one now."

"I'll set your hair on fire if you don't stop it," he threatened idly, rolling his eyes and handing the sparkler to her so that she had one in each hand. "I assure you, I was a very long way from 'cute' as a little boy." She promptly changed their colours so that one burned red and one burned green, and he snorted softly.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching your Slytherins?" she asked, idly drawing patterns in the air.

"I promised dire retribution if any of them dared to misbehave. They listened." He twitched slightly at a louder explosion and a hissing shower of sparks, then relaxed again. She wondered briefly what hostile spell it had reminded him of, and decided it didn't matter.

"Minerva's staring at us again," she observed, attempting a few more complicated patterns with the sparklers as they watched the fireworks. "What do you suppose she wants this time?"

"Who knows?" he replied, turning his head and staring flatly back at the Headmistress. "Whatever it is, I doubt it will be pleasant. She's been watching us most of the night," he added, sounding irritated.

She suppressed a smile. "We could hardly have privacy anyway at a public gathering like this, as you well know. Don't take it out on her until she does something to deserve it."

He snorted softly, but further comment was prevented when the Headmistress finally came over to them. "Good evening, Hermione, Severus. Not coming to join the rest of us?" she asked.

"Severus isn't exactly popular around here," Hermione explained. "It's easier to stay on the edge of things."

"That's hardly fair to you, though," Minerva replied after a moment. "You should go and enjoy yourself."

Hermione shrugged and smiled, holding up her sparklers. "I'm having a good time."

"I think I must insist, both of you," the older witch said quietly, forcibly steering them both to the side of the bonfire where the rest of the staff had gathered.

"Is there some problem?" Severus asked, his eyes narrowing a little, although he kept his tone polite enough not to create a scene.

Minerva hesitated, before sighing. "Not... exactly. But... well, the two of you have been spending a great deal of time together, recently..."

"We're friends," Severus replied shortly.

"Yes, I know that – although I certainly don't understand it," the Headmistress added caustically, "what with your friendly and outgoing personality." She paused, and sighed again. "Nonetheless, I would not wish anyone to get the wrong idea. It is... not exactly... appropriate..."

The somewhat startled silence was broken by Severus starting to choke. Trying unsuccessfully to stop the coughing and spluttering noises, he finally gave up and started to laugh helplessly, and Hermione was hard pressed to hold back her own fit of the giggles. Especially when she caught sight of Neville; even in the ruddy light from the fire, he was bright scarlet and gaping wordlessly, and she realised after a moment that even in the midst of his own laughing fit Severus had nonverbally and wandlessly Silenced the Herbology professor to stop him giving the game away.

Severus was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe, hunching over a little where he stood. Judging by the way everyone else was staring at him, Hermione suspected none of them had ever heard him really laugh before; she remembered the shock the first time she had heard it. She heard Madam Pomfrey suppress an inelegant snort, and that was it; she started laughing herself. "Thank you for your concern," she managed somewhat breathlessly, "but it's really not a problem."

Neville managed to shake off the Silencing charm; he was standing directly behind Minerva, so most of the staff couldn't see his expression as he bit down on his sleeve to stop himself laughing. Madam Pomfrey's shoulders were shaking as she fought her own mirth, and Severus was beginning to wheeze for breath. The rest of the faculty looked surprised by their reactions, save Minerva, who was starting to look highly offended.

"I am only looking out for you, Hermione. I would hate your reputation to be spoiled, and I wouldn't want your man to hear something untoward and get the wrong idea."

"What about... _my _reputation?" Severus gasped breathlessly, still laughing, and Hermione almost collapsed at the look on the Headmistress' face as Neville started sputtering, losing the battle to keep from hysteria.

"Minerva... it's fine," she finally managed to say, contriving to step on Severus' foot without being noticed – it didn't make any difference. He sounded about to choke to death. "The general public have been trashing my reputation for years. The people who need to know the truth, know. That's what matters. I enjoy Severus' company – when he's not being a prat," she added, drawing further laughter from her now completely breathless lover, "and I'm not going to avoid him in public to keep the gossips happy."

Finally managing to get himself more or less under control, Severus straightened up, wiping his eyes as he regained his composure. "Besides," he pointed out unsteadily, "who would believe it?"

"Good point," Neville said thoughtfully, laughing quite hard himself now. There were several muffled laughs from the rest of the staff, which Hermione thought was rather unfair. It wasn't _that _unlikely... Regarding Severus, she smiled. _Okay, yes, it is._

"Thank you for looking out for me, Minerva," she said quietly, her ribs aching.

"Thank you for the entertainment, Minerva," Severus added in the same tone, snickering before turning away and circling the bonfire, heading towards a knot of students who looked like they were planning something they shouldn't be.

"He gets worse," Minerva said in a disgusted tone. "I was just trying to spare you any problems, Hermione."

"I know," she assured her employer, calming down now. "And I suppose some people might start to wonder why we spend so much time together. But there's nothing sinister about it, I assure you." It definitely wasn't innocent, but that wasn't what had been asked.

"We've all just seen what he thinks of the notion," Flitwick observed in his reedy voice. "I'm not sure whether he intended to be insulting or not. I seldom am, with Severus."

Hermione grinned. "He wasn't trying to be insulting, no. If you can't tell, it's usually a safe bet to assume he didn't mean it. When he's trying to be insulting... believe me, you know."

"I still don't see how you can be friends with him," Minerva said, shaking her head. "He's utterly..."

"Impossible? Infuriating? Nasty? Annoying?" Hermione suggested, trying not to start laughing again – her ribs were hurting. "I know. That's just the way he is. But he's not bad company, if you catch him in the right mood." She shrugged. "Really, looking back, Severus never did anything to me personally except to say some rather nasty things when I was an irritating girl and he was a bitter and very heavily burdened man. He's apologised for that. And he has saved my life several times."

"He doesn't seem quite as bad as he used to be," Neville volunteered, sounding much calmer now; his eyes were filled with suppressed laughter. "I didn't realise he could laugh like that, though."

Madam Pomfrey joined the conversation. "I don't think I've ever seen Severus laugh so freely, either. He seems happier now than he has ever been, and I've known him since he was eleven."

Minerva returned to the original topic with a grimace. "But, Hermione, aren't you concerned about how this will appear? You above all of us know how people talk. Your man..."

"...Understands quite well that I have friends," Hermione replied gently. "As I said – the people who need to know the truth, know it. Nobody else matters."

* * *

_Whee! More fanart! Thank you so much, **Kimber: **_tinyurl dot com / 3zuruas _ (moved to my own host because apparently the link wasn't working for a lot of people)  
_


	37. Chapter 37

_Oh dear.__  
_

* * *

**"Walk a little further off the beaten path  
And we'll drive on, even if we get there last  
Our backs against the wall; and we will lunge and bite  
And we'll rage, rage, rage, against the dying of the light **.**"**  
– Great Big Sea, 'Here And Now'.

* * *

It started snowing the next day, and it kept snowing throughout November and into December. The poor weather made for a lot of bored and restless students, and all the teachers were kept busy. On the plus side, it meant that more students than usual elected to go home rather than stay at Hogwarts over Christmas – from three of the houses, anyway. Most of Slytherin were staying at the school.

"I don't remember so many Slytherins staying behind when I was at school," Hermione commented shortly before the end of term.

"No. In those days it was a sign of prestige to go on fancy holidays over the break. The students who stayed behind were usually those like myself, or Potter, who didn't want to go home or didn't have anywhere to go – or those who wished to get up to mischief," he added dryly. "I paid close attention to Gryffindor when you or Weasley stayed over Christmas."

"Thank you for that," she replied, rolling her eyes at him. "So what's different now?"

Severus leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Most of the old pureblood families have fallen on hard times following the war. The traditionally Slytherin families are poorer than they were, and many of the current students are from less affluent backgrounds. To be blunt, though... most of them simply do not wish to go home. At school, they have someone to protect them."

She frowned at him. "Severus?"

"Confidentiality," he replied quietly. "But I can tell you this much – many of my House come from the sort of background that would make a social worker cry. They're better off here."

"Ouch."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Slytherin has always been home to the dregs of society as well as the cream."

"The lost ones," she said slowly, remembering something Harry had told her once – he'd referred to himself, Severus, and Tom Riddle as the lost boys.

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "The ones nobody cares about. They are often Sorted into Slytherin because at least there, they will learn to survive, as I did."

"Well. They have you, now, at least," she offered, getting up and moving to stand beside him.

"Lucky them," he replied dryly, leaning against her. "I believe that is why most of them are staying, actually. At least I've made that much progress."

"Don't be such a miserable sod," she told him lightly. "You've done wonders, and you know it."

"I was born a miserable sod, and I'll die a miserable sod," he retorted, standing up. "And right now, I have to go and educate the miserable sods of the future."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'll see you later."

* * *

"All right," Minerva said cheerfully, looking around the staff room. "Who wants New Year off?"

Surprisingly, Severus was first to raise his hand, drawing a number of startled looks. Minerva blinked at him. "You, Severus?"

"If I may," he replied a little stiffly.

"You have somewhere to be?" she questioned.

"Yes," he gritted, starting to look defensive. Hermione looked at him; he hadn't mentioned anything to her. He wasn't looking at her; studying his expression, she concluded that he was probably planning something good, and looked back at Minerva hopefully.

The Headmistress shrugged. "I'm sorry, but it's a no."

Severus scowled at her, anger creeping into his eyes. "When have I ever requested a day off?" he asked.

"Last December, actually, when you took off for a week without explanation."

"That was for personal reasons," he muttered, before sighing. "Why am I not permitted to have New Year's Eve to myself?"

"Because I said so, and stop scowling like that, or the wind will change and you'll be stuck like it," she replied dismissively, before looking around the staff room as he glared at her. "That goes for the rest of you, too, I'm afraid. I thought it would be nice for us all to see in the New Year together; so you're all required to be here, at least until midnight. You can slink off then if you really must, Severus."

"There won't be much point by then," he replied irritably.

"What a shame."

"Why this sudden urge towards team building, Minerva? You haven't been reading management books again, have you?" he asked darkly.

Ignoring this, Minerva looked around again. Apparently satisfied that nobody else was going to argue, even though several people didn't look happy, she nodded. "On a similar note, Severus, I must insist that you start attending meals again. It sets a bad example to have a Head of House absent. I have let it go recently – because frankly your early-morning scowl tends to put the students off their breakfast – but I'm not willing to overlook it any more."

His expression suggested that he was thinking a number of very unpleasant thoughts, but he bent his head stiffly in acknowledgement and fell to scowling at the wall as he brooded silently. Hermione was tempted to protest this apparent victimisation – and the loss of the New Year; she had planned to spend it with him anyway, but the rest of her colleagues hadn't figured in the equation – but before she could do so Minerva turned to her.

"You, too, Hermione. You are only part-time, you aren't technically required to attend meals, but I would very much appreciate it if you would do so."

Well, there wasn't much point in missing meals when Severus was stuck in the Great Hall. But quite often during the week the lunch hour was almost the only time they had together until late in the evening; this meant that on busy days she wouldn't see him privately all day. Hardly the end of the world, admittedly, but it was still annoying. "Of course, Headmistress," she muttered reluctantly.

* * *

The castle was wonderfully quiet once term had ended. The Slytherins were all quite capable of looking after themselves, and seemed to understand that this should be a holiday for their Head of House as well as for them, and were content to keep to themselves. Many of the staff had taken advantage of the unusually empty castle and had gone on holidays of their own; technically, Hermione had as well, at least on paper. The Slytherin students certainly knew she was still there, but none of them would say anything, and since Severus was only required to show himself on Christmas Day itself during the holidays, and then only for breakfast and dinner, nobody else was likely to notice that he didn't leave his rooms.

When she woke up on Christmas Day, Severus had evidently already gone to the Great Hall; yawning, she focused blearily on the note he had left on the pillow, squinting at the spiky writing.

_Refereeing the meal upstairs. Your breakfast is on the table. Your cat is sulking at not being allowed to eat it for you. I hope I won't be long. Bah, humbug. S._

Smothering a laugh, she smiled and got up somewhat reluctantly, making the bed before taking a quick shower and padding through his quarters in search of the promised breakfast. Crookshanks was indeed sulking, but he cheered up when she shared with him; finished, he jumped off the table and headed back into the bedroom, licking his whiskers and meowing imperiously for her to follow him.

Her Christmas present was on the bedside table; she hadn't even seen it when she'd woken up. Smiling, she fetched his and left it on his side of the bed before curling up with an interested Crookshanks to open the flat package. It felt like a picture frame... Looking down at the framed photograph, she smiled. It was a Muggle photo, she was pleased to see; talking portraits were fine, but moving silent photographs were a little creepy in her opinion, constantly re-enacting the same little scene over and over. After a moment she realised what was wrong with it, and blinked as she looked down at her cat.

"Who took the picture, Crooks?" she asked, puzzled, as she studied the photo again. It was of the three of them – herself, Severus and Crookshanks – settled on the sofa; he was stretched out with a book, she was tucked into the curve of his arm and apparently asleep, and the cat lay sprawled across them both. It was a very good quality picture, too. "How on earth did he manage that?"

A quiet laugh drew her eyes to the doorway, where Severus stood watching her and smiling slightly. "A very complicated process involving a Pensieve, a Muggle camera, some fairly experimental magic, a rather nasty migraine, and very nearly a small fire," he replied in answer to her question. "I don't really recommend it."

"Hello. You've been a long time."

He smirked. "The third year Hufflepuffs started a food fight. It escalated rather rapidly."

"You look happy – did you get to give out lots of detentions?" she asked teasingly, and he chuckled.

"No, but I knew it was going to happen, thanks to a tip from a certain unnamed Slytherin; as a result, I was the only staff member to get a Shield Charm up in time."

"And I missed it," she pouted. "You have to show me later."

"If you wish," he responded, smirking again as he briskly removed his teaching robe and threw it carelessly onto a chair before coming to sit beside her and looking down at the photo.

She leaned sideways and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's lovely. And clever. Thank you." She picked up his presents and handed them over. "Merry Christmas."

The first present, an anthology of poems and short prose pieces by assorted Irish writers, earned her a pleased smile and a kiss. The second, a garish and tacky bright orange coffee mug emblazoned with 'World's Best Teacher', made him burst out laughing.

"You like it, then?" she asked, grinning at him.

"I'm going to keep it on my desk at all times," he assured her, chuckling softly. "I will derive hours of entertainment from watching my students trying to work out who gave it to me and what drugs they were on at the time."

"I'm so glad that I can help amuse you," Hermione replied dryly, smiling at him and leaning up to kiss him gently. She felt him smile against her lips, before he kissed her back rather less gently. At some point he dug a small wrapped packet out of his pocket and threw it through the doorway into the living room, pursued by an eager Crookshanks; the door slammed shut behind the half-Kneazle, and time drifted away.

* * *

They had spent the rest of the day in bed, more or less, interrupted only briefly for Severus to reluctantly clean up and dress to attend meals. Boxing Day promised to be rather less fun. Recovering her balance after Apparating to the Burrow, Hermione looked around; until Severus appeared beside her with a sharp crack and a spray of snow, she hadn't been sure he would go through with it. This was his idea of Hell, after all – she had a feeling he would prefer the Cruciatus curse to this. She owed him, she reflected as she smiled at him. He didn't smile back, regarding the rambling old house as though it were a gallows before taking a breath and straightening, glancing at her. Taking the hint, she led the way, hearing him crunching through the snow after her.

Molly met them at the door, beaming. "Hermione, Severus, hello! Merry Christmas! Come in, come in – the boys are still getting up, it was rather a late night yesterday. Charlie and Percy took the children earlier, so it's quiet at the moment." She enveloped Hermione in a warm hug; recovering her breath, Hermione watched in some amusement as the motherly witch subjected Severus to the same treatment, telling him at the same time how wonderful it was to see him again after so long and how deplorably thin he still was. He tolerated the hug rather uncomfortably and disentangled himself as soon as he could, but managed to politely return her greeting without sounding too ill at ease, shaking hands with Arthur as the older wizard appeared behind his wife.

One by one the rest of the family trailed into the kitchen and the smell of food, greeting the new arrivals without incident. Fleur, looking far too innocent, wished Severus a Merry Christmas in French, and Bill and Hermione both dissolved into laughter when he replied in the same language. George greeted them both with an off-colour joke that did a lot to ease the tension and earned him a slap to the back of the head from his mother and another from his sister as Ginny arrived in time to hear the punch line.

There was a moment of awkwardness when Harry came in, and everyone else in the kitchen held their breath as the two wizards faced one another openly for the first time since the Shrieking Shack. After a pause that seemed to last far too long, the two of them shook hands rather gingerly without speaking, and everyone relaxed; Hermione searched her lover's face anxiously, but his eyes were expressionless and he was clearly Occluding again. He didn't seem too tense, but she really did owe him a great deal for this.

Ron was the last to arrive, thudding down the stairs with his usual lack of grace and shambling into the kitchen. "Morning, everyone," he said through a yawn. "Hello, 'Mione. Happy Christmas." He came over and hugged her before looking around the room, failing to notice everyone watching him warily, and frowned. "Snape? What're you doing here?"

_At least he sounds confused rather than angry, _Hermione reflected as she took a deep breath. Severus was intently studying the wall to one side of the youngest Weasley male; a muscle twitched in his cheek, which she knew was a sign of nerves rather than temper. "He's here with me, Ron," she replied as casually as she could. "Happy Christmas."

Ron's frown deepened. "Why?"

"Ron, don't be rude to a guest," Molly told him briskly, following Hermione's lead and trying to pretend it wasn't an issue. "Come and sit down; lunch won't be ready for a while yet."

He stayed where he was, looking confused, before turning slowly to look around the room. His family hastily found other things to look at, but the tension in the kitchen was unmistakeable, and Ron really wasn't stupid; his eyes widened abruptly and he spun to stare incredulously at Severus. "_You?_"

Not quite making eye contact, Severus inclined his head a little. "Indeed," he replied quietly; he sounded a little stiff, but he was clearly making a tremendous effort to keep things calm. "Good morning, Mr. Weasley." Evidently 'Merry Christmas' was beyond him at the moment.

Ron kept staring, looking utterly stunned. The uncomfortable silence was broken by George saying cheerfully, "Sit down, little brother, and close your mouth before you catch flies. Yeah, Hermione's here with Professor Snape, and it's incredibly weird, but we're all playing nice so neither of them kill us all. Now drink your tea and behave," he added in a fair imitation of his mother. Still gaping, Ron did as he was told automatically, and the rest of the Weasleys promptly started up three separate and loud conversations to fill the silence.

It hadn't been as bad as it could have been. It was almost impossible to be socially awkward when surrounded by Weasleys anyway, and by the time they'd all pitched in to help get dinner ready things had smoothed out more than Hermione could have dreamed of. Severus was obviously not enjoying himself, but he was behaving and didn't seem _too _acutely uncomfortable, and everyone else was making an effort. The net effect of all this was to lull Hermione into a false sense of security; she barely felt even a faint tremor of alarm when Ron finally looked up from his pudding to ask suddenly, "Why?"

"Why what?" George responded flippantly, while Molly scolded her youngest son for talking with his mouth full, but it was obvious what Ron meant, and he was staring directly at Severus.

Severus himself didn't look up from his food as he replied quietly, "That's a fair question."

There was a pause before Ron demanded, "Well?"

He glanced up, his dark eyes unreadable as ever. "I said it was a fair question. I did not say that I would answer it," he said calmly, before returning to his meal.

Ron flushed to the tips of his ears, a well-known danger sign. "You've been drinking, Ron," Ginny said quickly, trying to head off the forthcoming explosion before it happened. "For Merlin's sake don't say anything stupid."

"Which means don't say anything," Bill interjected as Ron started to speak; George leaned across the table and deftly shoved a mince pie into his younger brother's mouth, nearly choking him, as Harry and Arthur started talking loudly about something else.

* * *

It wasn't until after dinner as they all helped clear the table that Ron spoke again. He was quite drunk by this point, and his voice was too loud as he declared suddenly, "I reckon I know why."

Everyone glanced at one another uncertainly, which meant they missed the chance to shut him up. He continued, pointing at Hermione. "You're not gettin' any younger, an' you've let yourself go," he slurred, "put on weight, weren't a prize to begin with, so makes sense you'd need t' take what you can get, even whorin' to a Death Eater." He paused, but everyone was too busy staring at him in sheer disbelief to try and stop him; a buzzing had filled Hermione's ears, but she recognised the expression on his face and knew he was about to say something truly unforgiveable. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion as Ron's mouth opened again and he declared fatally, "An' Snivellus always did have a thing for Mudbloods."

The first spell was Hermione's, as she frantically grabbed for her wand and shrieked, "_Expelliarmus!_" in a desperate attempt to avoid bloodshed. She snatched Severus' wand out of the air as it flew towards her, ignoring the slight shock when she grabbed it, but realised the only reason she had been able to Disarm him at all was that he hadn't actually gone for his wand in the first place; instead Severus had simply lunged past the table and across the kitchen towards Ron. His first punch took the younger wizard in the stomach; Ron doubled over and his chin met Severus' second blow on the way down. Half-stunned, he fell back against the wall as Hermione yelled frantically, "Severus, don't!"

She glanced around the kitchen for help; George, Bill and Arthur were all helping to restrain a struggling Harry while Ginny spoke rapidly to her husband and tried to calm him down. Molly and Fleur both had their wands out, but there was no clear shot, and it was a bad idea to introduce magic. Taking a deep breath, Hermione thought a desperate prayer and raced across the kitchen to where Severus now had Ron pinned against the wall. Ron was taller and heavier, but despite that, Severus had managed to lift the younger man off the floor and was holding him by the neck, strangling him. Ron's nose was bleeding and probably broken, and one eye was already beginning to swell as he choked and struggled, clawing at the arm that pinned his throat and trying to kick, at least until Severus brought one knee up sharply and viciously with a complete lack of honour.

"Please, love, let him go," she said softly, not at all sure that Severus could hear her but knowing that she was the only one he would listen to. Reaching out, she touched his shoulder and felt the sting of magic under her fingers; his muscles were rigid and hard as iron under her hand. She felt him shudder before he abruptly released his grip. Ron fell to the floor gasping and coughing, and Severus whirled, his eyes burning; pushing roughly past her, he stormed out of the back door, slamming it behind him so hard it almost fell off its hinges.

Hermione collapsed into a chair, dizzy with relief; Severus had been on the edge of murder. She couldn't let herself think about what had just happened yet. Ginny walked past her, dragging Harry by one arm; she towed her husband into the living room and closed the door behind them.

George dropped into a chair next to Hermione and handed her a glass of wine. "I know none of us really had any decent Defence teachers," he said conversationally, "but surely _someone _told you not to go near pissed-off Death Eaters? He could've killed you."

Drinking deeply, she shook her head. "He's warned me about that before," she replied tiredly – her voice sounded strange, and she wondered if she was going into shock. "But he would never hurt me, no matter how angry or upset he is. I don't think he can." She looked around; Arthur was helping his wife tidy the kitchen, picking up chairs and rescuing crockery and cutlery from the floor, while Bill and Fleur spoke softly in French to one another. Nobody was looking at Ron, curled up on the floor panting and whimpering.

"You okay?" George asked.

"I don't know. Probably not, but it's all right." She managed a shaky smile and finished the wine, standing and moving to help clean up, tucking Severus' wand into her belt beside her own.

Hermione decided after a few minutes of everyone staring at one another awkwardly that Severus would be calm enough now that he probably wouldn't hex her, and left the tense atmosphere to go and join him; the now silent group in the kitchen watched her making her way down the snowy garden to the dark figure smoking down by the fence. The pair apparently spoke softly to one another as he finished his cigarette, before Hermione pulled herself up to sit on the top rail and slid her arms around the Potions master's neck; as their audience watched, he slid his arms around her waist in return and rested his cheek against her hair.

"Severus, I –" she started weakly, and his arms tightened warningly, his voice clipped and harsh.

"Don't you dare apologise, not for this." She looked up briefly, long enough to see that his eyes were hard and angry still, and looked away again, burying her head in the crook of his neck. For once, his embrace offered little comfort; his body was tense and rigid, and she could feel the aura of his magic crackling in the air around him as he battled for control of his anger. After a long moment he exhaled and continued speaking in a fractionally softer tone. "I am not angry with you, Hermione, and this was not your fault. We both knew it was likely that something unpleasant would happen today. You did not force me into this. My temper is my problem, and Weasley's stupidity is his problem. You have done nothing wrong."

Breathing out slowly, she inhaled his familiar scent and tried to relax; she could feel how hard he was trying to calm down. "Are you all right?"

"I was not the one who was insulted," he replied crisply, "and even if I had been, I care nothing for his opinion of me. I should be asking you that." But he hadn't asked, and she knew he wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to fix this as badly as she did, but neither of them really knew how to. He paused long enough to realise that she wasn't going to answer him, and continued quietly, "If you mean physically, I am unhurt. Is there much damage inside?"

"Nothing serious," she assured him, nuzzling into his neck as a little more tension eased away. "Molly's got it under control." She sighed. "Thank you for not hurting him too badly."

"I'm not sure it was a conscious decision," he answered softly, rubbing his cheek against her hair. "But you did the right thing by going for my wand. Although you shouldn't have tried to stop me," he added, and she smiled a little against his skin.

"George said the same thing after you left. I told him, and now I'm telling you, that you'd never hurt me. Your control is better than that."

"It was a risk," he replied neutrally.

"Stop it, Severus. This wasn't your fault either."

He relaxed a little more. "Point taken." Relieved, she shifted position on the fence rail and nestled closer as more of the tension drained from both of them and the sense of his magic slowly faded.

After a while, Harry came out to join them. He looked vaguely uncomfortable at interrupting their embrace, but came and stood nearby anyway; it seemed that Ginny had managed to calm him down. "Ron's left," he muttered finally, looking anywhere but at them, evidently not sure how to deal with seeing a simple gesture of affection from the dreaded Professor Snape.

"Good," Hermione responded crisply, as Severus loosened his arms and allowed her to climb off the fence and stand beside him, carefully placing herself between the two men to try and lessen the awkwardness.

Harry stared glassily out over the snowy fields for a while. "Professor, may I talk to you?" he asked finally, sounding uncomfortable.

"About what?" Severus responded, his tone a mixture of caution and suspicion as he lit another cigarette.

"About... my parents." Harry turned, his eyes almost pleading. "I'm sorry to ask; but you're the only one left who can tell me what they were really like. I don't know anyone else who was at school with them. I always meant to talk to Remus, but there was never time, and then it was too late. Please, sir?"

Severus was silent for a little while, staring pensively out over the landscape and smoking. Hermione gave her friend a look of rebuke; she wished he hadn't asked this now. He could have written and asked at some later time, if he felt he really had to. But at least Severus didn't seem too upset by the request – or particularly surprised, she noticed. Finally extinguishing his cigarette, he took out his lighter and began playing with it restlessly. Eventually he said quietly, "I cannot give you an unbiased picture. There was too much emotion on both sides, and I only ever saw one facet of each of them."

"I know," Harry replied, "but it would still be more than I know now. Almost all I know of them comes from your memories, sir."

"Do stop calling me 'sir', Potter," he growled. "I have not taught you for a dozen happy years."

Harry almost smiled. "You used to insist on it."

"I used to be your teacher. And you used to be an ill-mannered brat."

"You used to be a bastard, too," Harry countered.

"He still is," Hermione interjected, smiling when both men looked at her with almost identical expressions.

"Thank you for that," Severus told her dryly, shaking his head before returning to fiddling with his lighter, snapping it open and closed. Harry seemed about to say something as the silence drew out, but she shook her head at him warningly; Severus would talk when he was ready, and not before. Finally he sighed, putting the Zippo away and folding his arms on top of the fence, leaning against the rails and staring out over the snowy fields.

"At the risk of sparking your infamous temper once again, your father was an arrogant bully," he said flatly. "You saw how our first meeting went; I did nothing to deserve his animosity. I was far from blameless later on, I can admit that now, but I did not start it. James Potter was rich, handsome and popular, and he considered that those things gave him the right to do as he pleased. He never felt that the rules applied to him." These were all things that Severus had said to Harry before, but he wasn't taunting or sneering now and seemed deep in thought.

"Using an example from your own schooldays to give you context... I suppose James was a cross between the Weasley twins and Draco Malfoy," Severus said after a pause. "For the most part, he seemed a friendly, outgoing boy; but he was also rather spoiled and determined to get his own way, as well as being utterly thoughtless. But whereas Draco tended to attack anyone who wasn't one of his minions, James saved that side of himself exclusively for me."

He sighed. "I do not know why he hated me so much. He was everything that I wasn't. I was smarter than he was, but he was far from stupid. I think perhaps I gave him an excuse to indulge himself; I was so universally unpopular that he didn't need to feel guilty about picking on me, especially since I gave back as good as I got when I could. I believe he and Black encouraged and bolstered one another; and, of course, as we grew older, we each became insanely jealous of one another because of Lily." He shrugged. "James and I hated one another bitterly, but from what I recall, he was pleasant enough to everyone else. And as I believe you yourself have realised, had he been a truly unpleasant person, your mother would never have looked twice at him."

Harry nodded slowly. Clearly he wasn't enjoying hearing this, but he was listening anyway, desperate to learn about the family he had never known. "Did my mother – did she know about the Shack, and Remus?" he asked.

"No," Severus responded quietly. "She would never have overlooked or forgiven that and I very much doubt James ever planned to admit it. It occurred several months after she had stopped speaking to me; I am sure she knew the Marauders had once again done something bad to me, but I am not sure even most of the staff knew what had really happened. As far as the school as a whole was concerned, it truly was nothing more than a... a prank." Even now, he couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice or the hurt out of his eyes, and Hermione leaned against him by way of comfort, feeling him subtly lean into her in return.

After a pause, Harry asked quietly, "What was my mother really like, Professor?"

"Did you never ask your aunt?"

Harry snorted. "Yes, of course I did, but I'm hoping you'll tell me a bit more than 'she was a freak'. Anyway, I've not seen any of the Dursleys in years."

Severus was silent for quite a long time. "I cannot tell you much, Potter," he said at last. "It has taken me many years to understand how I really felt about her." He took a deep breath. "Before we went to Hogwarts, she was a very bright little girl. She was smart enough to realise that she stood on the brink of an utterly alien world, one that she was not prepared for, and she was frightened. In the beginning, she needed me as much as I needed her. In addition, she was from a loving middle-class family and I came from poverty, abuse and neglect, and I believe she felt sorry for me. After we started school, she made friends easily with most of our year; she was outgoing, vivacious and kind, and became very popular. She no longer needed me, although we remained friends."

He sighed. "Your mother was quite a shallow girl," he said quietly. "She used me, and I let her because she was all I had. She worked with me in classes because she got higher marks by doing so than if she had worked with one of her girlfriends, and because the teachers were all very impressed with such a display of inter-House unity, and because I believe that she felt as though she was a better person by offering her friendship to such a disadvantaged and unpopular boy, as though I were a charity case. She _was _my friend, but never to the extent that I was hers, and as time went on it became increasingly one-sided; she no longer needed me, and there was too much about me that she did not like. I believe she was relieved when I said what I did, since it gave her an excuse to end a friendship she no longer wanted without having to feel guilty; because it was my fault, and she could blame me for it."

"There is one thing I want to ask about that, sir," Harry said hesitantly.

"Only one?" Severus replied caustically.

"Well, no, not really," Harry agreed sheepishly. "But, well... What you said to my mum. I just wondered – why did you say it? You must have known how she would react."

It was a mark of how far he had come that Severus only rolled his eyes at the reference. "Use your head, Potter. I was sixteen and in the process of being humiliated and injured in front of half the school, including the girl I liked. Why do you _think _I said it?"

"That's it?" Harry asked blankly, and Severus gave him a penetrating stare.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you never said anything nasty to your friends just because you were upset, when you were sixteen."

Harry thought about this, rather sheepishly avoiding Hermione's eyes. "Fair enough," he conceded after a moment. "But did it have to be that word?"

Severus sighed. "You're not listening, Potter. I did not say it deliberately. I was angry and humiliated and I lashed out before I realised what I was saying – something I did frequently throughout my teens. I assure you, I would never willingly have alienated my only real friend, nor was pure-blood superiority one of my personal beliefs given my own blood status."

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed slowly. He looked awkward. "How far does that memory go, past the part I've seen?" he asked.

"Far enough," Severus answered repressively. "You truly do not want to know."

Harry sighed. "I guess I probably don't. I'm sorry." Severus turned his head and exchanged glances with Hermione, looking amused, and they both laughed softly. Harry looked baffled. "What?"

"Gryffindors," Severus murmured, looking away with a faint half-smile.

Hermione grinned at her friend. "Apparently we Gryffindors are always apologising for things that weren't actually our fault. I used to do it a lot, until he taught me not to."

Harry almost smiled in response, before sighing somewhat unhappily. "All this isn't exactly what I was hoping to hear, sir."

Severus sighed once more. "No doubt it isn't."

"But... you were in love with her."

"I thought I was," Severus corrected him softly. He inclined his head in Hermione's direction. "I was not then in a position to make an informed judgement concerning such emotions." Hermione blinked, then smiled slightly and reached for his hand; he linked his fingers through hers and squeezed gently, although he hadn't looked at her. Harry looked slightly startled, but wisely didn't say anything, and after a moment Severus sighed again.

"Your parents were not bad people, Potter," he said quietly. "Your mother was sixteen when I last spoke to her, and your parents were both only eighteen when I last saw them. Most people are unpleasant little shits when they are teenagers. You and Weasley were; I was; and so were your parents to some extent. I believe they matured into brave and worthy people; and, strangely, I believe they were good influences on one another."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly, blinking rapidly.

Severus gave him a disgusted look. "Start crying, Potter, and I will hex you," he said warningly. "And for the last time, _stop _calling me 'sir'. I am sure you still remember my name."

Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you... Severus," he said, a little awkwardly.

There was a short pause, before Severus replied carefully, "You are welcome... Harry."

They didn't stay much longer after that, just long enough to finish clearing up and have coffee and determine that everyone was all right after what had happened. Molly apologised for her son's words; Severus apologised for assaulting him; and once things had calmed down, they left on surprisingly good terms with everyone who was left.

* * *

Once back at Hogwarts, they returned to the school in almost complete silence. Hermione insisted determinedly that she _wasn't _upset. Ron had been saying stupid and hurtful things to her for about twenty years; she was immune by now. Severus didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue, just settled down nearby with a book and let her be. She knew he was still angry about what had happened, remembering the absolute fury in his eyes earlier, but he wasn't showing it any more.

When she started crying a short while later, it caught her by surprise; she truly hadn't thought that she was that upset. By the time she managed to get herself more or less under control, both Severus and Crookshanks were watching her in concern. She tried to smile and tell them that she was all right, but... she wasn't, really.

"Severus?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes?"

"...Do you love me?"

He blinked slowly, a faint frown making a crease between his brows. "You know I do," he replied slowly, sounding a little uncertain.

"I... need to hear you say it. Please." She hated to ask it of him, but she desperately needed something to erase the memory of Ron snarling at her like that. She had thought he loved her, once, but if he could be that hateful then he never had, and she needed something real and dependable to cling to for reassurance now.

Comprehension lit the depths of Severus' fathomless black eyes; putting his book down, he leaned forward in his chair and looked at her seriously. "I love you, Hermione Granger," he told her quietly, not even stumbling over the still-unfamiliar words.

She swallowed. "Do you want me?"

"Yes." He hesitated for a long moment, before saying very quietly and with unmistakeable emphasis, "Always." Her breath caught for a moment as she looked at him, knowing that the echo had been deliberate. _Oh, Severus..._

"Prove it to me?" she asked softly. "Please?"

He searched her face for a moment before standing up slowly and walking over to her. Cupping her face gently in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her, and she clung to him almost desperately as she kissed him back, needing him to make her feel again.

In the midst of their lovemaking, as blessed ecstasy blanked her emotions and erased everything except pleasure, Severus stopped moving above her and stared down at her, his eyes curiously intent. Leaning down, he nuzzled at her neck, kissing her throat before whispering in her ear.

"'Doubt thou that the stars are fire; doubt thou that the sun doth move; doubt the truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love'."

She couldn't help it; she started crying again. He gently kissed each tear away as it formed, beginning to move once more, and her climax brought merciful relief from pain as he came with her.

Lying quietly in his arms as her tears dried and her breathing grew easier, Hermione said softly, "I thought Shakespeare was overrated?"

"Not all of it," he murmured in response, gently smoothing her hair back from her face. "Every now and then, he did come up with a good idea."

Lifting her head, she looked at him. "It's not you I doubt, Severus, it's me."

"I know," he answered softly. "I could kill Weasley for this. In fact, say the word, and I will."

She didn't doubt it for an instant, able to see the faint thread of anger in his eyes still. She tried to smile. "It's not just him. I doubt myself a lot, you know. I always have."

"I don't see why that means I shouldn't disembowel him for what he said," Severus muttered, before asking teasingly, "Who should I go back in time to slap, then?"

She almost did smile this time. "You bastard, stop trying to make me laugh. I'm feeling sorry for myself over here."

He smiled back at her. "I've told you before, Hermione, you are not attractive when you cry. I would much rather look at your smile."

"I think I'm too insecure and stupidly female to smile right now."

Severus gave her an amused look. "You're talking to the man with possibly the lowest self esteem of any wizard alive today," he pointed out. "At least mine is marginally more justified than yours. Now tell me you love me, and go to sleep."

Muttering to herself, and now trying _not_ to smile, Hermione did as she was told.

* * *

She woke to find the quiet darkness disturbed by a green glow from the fire; Severus was a dark shadow crouched in front of it, his voice a low hissing whisper. "I told you, Potter, she is asleep. As was I. You do display a tendency towards unfortunate timing. Now go away before I start teaching you the sorts of unpleasant and painful things that can be sent via a Floo connection."

Hermione took stock slowly; Crookshanks had claimed the warm spot left by Severus' body when he got up, and the half-Kneazle was purring softly, curled up against her. Harry's voice reached her faintly from the Floo. "But is she all right?"

Severus sighed theatrically. "Of course not. This is her first ever experience of Weasley opening his big mouth and ramming his foot down it, and she spent the rest of the day in hysterics cutting herself. Don't be a fool, Potter."

"Is. She. All. Right." Harry was starting to sound annoyed now.

She half-expected Severus to reply with greater levels of sarcasm, but instead he replied quietly, "Yes, Harry, she's fine. She's strong. You know that. Now for the love of Merlin, will you please go away and let me get some sleep?"

There was a short pause before Harry spoke again, in a quieter tone. "Are _you _all right?"

"I'm not the one who was insulted," Severus replied tiredly. "Everything is fine, Harry, really. Now _go away._"

"Sorry. Good night."

"Good night." The green flames died and Severus stood up, rubbing his eyes wearily; Hermione closed her eyes almost completely and feigned sleep as he padded back to the bed. "Crookshanks, move," he ordered in a whisper; her familiar stopped purring, but moved obediently and allowed Severus to reclaim his place, settling on Hermione's other side and curling up again as Severus carefully slid his arms around her and nestled close. Watched over by both man and cat, Hermione let herself fall asleep again.

* * *

_Two pieces of fan art! From **A Colourless Rainbow: **_acolourlessrainbow dot deviantart dot com /#/d3egtg3 _and from **RaShelli: **_rashelli dot deviantart dot com /#/d3eiq0m_  
_


	38. Chapter 38

_Moving on, then...__  
_

* * *

**"I looked into your eyes and saw your past, you looked into mine and saw a future**.**"**  
– Jessie Grillo.

* * *

Hermione argued with herself for three days following the disaster at the Burrow, but finally one morning as she was getting dressed her resolve weakened and she stopped brushing her hair, staring at her reflection. "Severus?"

He was still in bed behind her; she watched through the mirror as he lifted his head and blinked at her, a little sleepily. "Yes?"

She hesitated for a moment longer – long enough for him to frown and push himself up on his elbows – before sighing. Without turning to look at him, she laid her hairbrush down and asked quietly, "Do you think I've put on weight?"

"What?" He sat up and gave her a somewhat incredulous look. "Do women really ask that? I thought it was just a myth, an urban legend or something."

"It's not. It's a serious question," she replied shortly, feeling horribly self conscious as she studied her reflection, clad only in her bra and knickers. She didn't think she looked any heavier, but... "Well?"

"Don't be bloody stupid," he told her bluntly.

She looked at him in the mirror; he looked faintly annoyed. "That's not an answer, Severus," she replied unhappily.

He made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. "I may not know much about relationships, but I do know that there is no right answer to that question. If I say no, you'll assume that I'm lying. If I do lie and say yes, you'll believe me. Either way, you'll be unhappy with yourself and angry with me. You've left me no way to win this one."

"This isn't funny, Severus!"

"No, it isn't," he agreed, sliding out of bed and padding nude across the floor to stand behind her. He made a show of studying her reflection for a moment, looking slightly angry for some reason, before stepping forward to stand against her back, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back firmly against him. Lowering his head, he rested his chin on her shoulder as he often did.

"As far as I can tell, you have not gained so much as an ounce since colliding with me in Waterloo Station, beyond the usual weight fluctuations caused by hormone changes and water retention that are far too small to detect visually," he told her calmly and pedantically. "Certainly I don't believe that you have gained any weight since we became lovers. You are absolutely _not _overweight, Hermione. Furthermore, it would make no difference if you were."

"Is this where you tell me that looks aren't everything?" she asked bitterly.

"A philosophy I have had little choice but to live by," he replied impatiently, "given my own physical appearance, but no, that is not what I was going to say. You know how I dislike clichés." He rather suddenly bit her on the shoulder, not particularly gently. "Had you allowed me to continue," he went on more softly as she winced, more from surprise than real pain, "I was about to say that I fell in love with _you, _not merely your appearance. That means everything, Hermione, the whole package – mind, body, soul, heart and spirit. You are beautiful, in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with your weight." Giving her a moment to absorb that, he added far more sharply, "So stop being an idiot. You are far too intelligent for this sort of stupidity." Nipping her again, on the neck this time, he drew away from her.

"Your bedside manner could use some work," she muttered, more or less out of reflex, as his words slowly sank in. She certainly wanted to believe him, and it was equally certain that Severus wasn't the type of man to lie, but...

He snorted. "More than anyone I know, you are most emphatically not in need of coddling, nor am I particularly suited to it."

"That's certainly true."

Studying her through narrowed eyes, he sighed. "I knew you would not believe me. Veritaserum doesn't work on me, nor would swearing on the Bible be particularly conclusive... Shall I contact Potter and find out what the truth-detection charm the Ministry use is?"

"Stop it, Severus."

"No. You are being ridiculous."

She glared at him before turning and walking out of the room, realising as she did so that she was still only in her underwear and had left her wand on the bedside table. It didn't matter; if he touched her now she was still going to hex him. How dare he turn this into a joke? She could hear him following her, but didn't turn around.

"Hermione." His tone of voice stopped her – he didn't sound angry, or upset, or teasing; he sounded as serious as she had ever heard him, quiet and intent. "Hermione, look at me, please." Relenting, even though she didn't want to, she turned around and met his dark eyes, but she wasn't expecting him to then say, "_Legilimens._"

Hermione had been on the receiving end of Legilimency before, but not like this. She felt as though she were falling into the blackness of his eyes, as the room around them faded; there were no glimpses of memory, his or hers, and no sensation of another presence. She couldn't even tell if they were in her mind or his; there was no point of reference at all, only blackness, and it was a little frightening.

From nowhere, she heard his deep, silky voice murmuring softly, "_Animadverto speculum,_" and a shimmering image formed in the darkness that seemed to surround her. It took her a moment to recognise herself, because there were subtle differences; this figure stood straighter, more confidently. The eyes were larger, longer-lashed, sparkling with some inner fire, their rather ordinary brown something more mutable with hints of amber and copper. The skin was the same shade, held all the same moles and freckles and small blemishes, down to the scar on her chest, but seemed somehow clearer and almost luminous with some odd quality she didn't understand, and the hair was shinier, less frizzy and with more highlights, the lips fuller.

She studied the image in some bewilderment. It was definitely, undeniably her; nothing had actually been changed – she was still Hermione Granger, bookworm, short and unfashionably curvy and with wild, tangled and untameable curly hair – but at the same time, it wasn't. This was how she had always secretly wanted to look.

And, she realised slowly, this must be how Severus saw her.

As she realised that, the connection broke, the image dissolving and the blackness fading as the room came back into focus. Severus had closed his eyes and was pinching the bridge of his nose as though to ease a headache; he was shimmering slightly, and she realised that was because she had started crying. Wiping her eyes, she asked in a small voice, "What does _animadverto speculum _mean?"

He replied quietly, "It means 'see the mirror'. It was the best I could come up with on such short notice – I have never done anything like that before." Giving her a serious look, he asked softly, "Did it work?" Hermione nodded shakily before the tears started flowing in earnest, and she stumbled blindly towards him. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her head against his chest, breathing in his scent as she cried.

Once her tears had stopped, and she had progressed from feeling upset to feeling rather silly, his arms loosened a little; but rather than let go, he began drawing on her bare back with one finger, slowly sketching out a five-pointed star. As he drew each line, he murmured softly, "Mind... body... soul... heart... and spirit."

"Everything," she whispered hoarsely in understanding, and felt him nod.

"Yes."

Relaxing, she nestled closer. "Sorry," she said quietly in a rather sheepish tone.

She could hear a smile in his voice. "I forgive you. This time."

"I'm hoping there won't be a next time," she muttered. "I feel like a complete prat."

"So you should," he told her tartly, drawing back to smile down at her. "I feel it only fair to warn you that if I suspect you are even _thinking _of dieting, I will not hesitate to stop you by any means necessary, up to and including Unforgiveables. And you make it very difficult to compliment your looks when you cry," he added rather whimsically, leaning down to kiss her gently before asking, "Are you really so insecure about your appearance because of that ginger tosser?"

Almost laughing at the description, she shook her head. "It's not just him, although he was the catalyst for this particular little breakdown. I've never really felt very attractive."

Severus grimaced. "I remember making a number of rather insensitive comments over the years; I suppose I didn't help much, did I."

"Not really, no," she agreed, "but you were just one small part of the whole. I think probably the biggest factor was my having to share a dormitory with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil for six years."

"Ouch," he agreed quietly. "I have seldom seen two more shallow students. I can see how that might have had an impact on your self esteem."

She nodded. "Add to that all my male friends treating me like 'one of the boys' and all other males steering well clear or openly hating me, as well as your Slytherins insulting me every time I turned around... it makes a girl insecure."

"I can understand that," he remarked, and she smiled a little at the irony in his tone.

"We really are both very alike, aren't we?"

"So it would seem," he agreed quietly, before kissing her forehead. "I trust you have a little more faith in yourself now?"

"A little, yes. I wish everyone saw with your eyes, though."

"I may see beyond the obvious, but I see nothing that isn't there," he retorted gently, kissing her deeply on the mouth before drawing away. "And right now, I see that I am going to be late to breakfast; I need to get dressed. Please try not to have a breakdown while I'm teaching."

"I'll do my best," she promised dryly. He shaved and dressed in record time and was half way out of the door when she spoke again. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

She walked over to him and hugged him fiercely. Caught off guard, he froze for a moment before hugging her back; she heard faint laughter in his voice. "Foolish woman," he told her affectionately.

"Probably," she agreed, pulling back just far enough to smile at him. "I do love you, Severus."

His eyes softened and he returned her smile. "I love you, too," he assured her quietly, before he bent his head and kissed her. "I would like to prove to you just how attractive I find you, but I really must go." Giving her a mock-stern look, he added, "Hold the thought; we shall discuss this later. At length." Kissing her again, he left the room, leaving her grinning at the closed door before she went to finish getting dressed.

Later that night, he kept his promise and devoted several hours to emphasising all the parts of her that he evidently found attractive, employing his wonderful voice and extensive vocabulary to support his physical arguments as he searched diligently for any extra weight she might have managed to gain without his noticing, eventually concluding that there was none to be found. He was extremely convincing, and she finally fell asleep in his arms some time after midnight, feeling thoroughly and deeply loved.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Hermione watched Severus reluctantly getting dressed – defiantly sticking to his ordinary teaching robes, she noticed, and his oldest set at that. His scowl summed up her own mood; she would much rather stay here with him than go and socialise with their colleagues. They were nice enough people, but they weren't _Severus._ "What did you have planned for tonight?" she asked softly.

"London," he replied as he raked a comb through his hair irritably. "Have you ever been to Diagon Alley on New Year's Eve?"

"No."

"It's... very atmospheric," he said slowly, turning and looking at her with a half-smile. "About the closest Britain can get to a real carnival, no matter what the Notting Hill lot think."

"Sounds like fun," she said regretfully. "That was always something I'd have loved to experience, Rio during the carnivals. Did you ever do that, while you were in America?"

His lips twitched. "Yes, once, although I have to admit I don't remember much about it except colour and noise. I took some pills that someone gave me, washed down with some sort of alcohol that had probably been boiled in a bucket somewhere, and it's all a bit of a blur after that."

"I trust you don't need me to point out that that was a really bad idea?" she asked, amused.

He snorted softly. "One of many bad ideas, believe me. I have probably tried almost every recreational drug known to man over the years, for one reason or another; ironically, almost never for recreational purposes."

"And to think, Minerva wants you to be setting a good example," she commented, smiling.

He snickered softly. "Small chance of that. And no, she doesn't; she just wants to control me, and by extension everyone else. God forbid anyone should go out and have fun on New Year's Eve when they could be sitting around trying to make awkward small talk with the same people they have to see every single day."

"Fun on New Year's Eve?" she gasped theatrically, trying to look shocked. "But I thought it was all a colossal waste of time – 'fucking pointless', I think you said."

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

The evening wasn't particularly successful so far, Hermione reflected dolefully. The champagne was good, but her work colleagues weren't really the type of people she wanted to get drunk with; at the moment she and Neville were talking to one side and watching everyone else, as Severus had said, making awkward small talk. Severus himself was lurking in a corner, scowling, and drinking more than he should be; she knew from experience that he was usually a miserable drunk – unless it was in Paris, anyway, apparently, when the normal rules evidently did not apply – and she would prefer that he wasn't in a bad mood once they managed to escape after midnight.

She would also prefer that he wasn't too drunk to do anything once they eventually made it to bed, although admittedly she had never seen him that inebriated; she wasn't sure there was enough alcohol in the world to render Severus Snape incapable if he was feeling amorous, although his current mood seemed dark enough that it was looking less likely with each passing minute.

"This is bleak, isn't it?" Neville muttered, looking around the room. He too had evidently had other things in mind for tonight.

"Just a bit, yes," she agreed, suppressing a sigh. "Don't get me wrong, I like you all, but really, I'd much rather be elsewhere."

"I'll bet." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Now, now, no need for that. You're only jealous, anyway," she teased.

He grinned ruefully at her. "Merlin help me, I think sometimes I am," he said, to her surprise. "I still can't understand how, or why, but the pair of you are annoyingly happy. And with Minerva restricting my social life, I don't have a lot of options around here. Can't you be miserably single like a normal person, instead of shacking up with Snape?"

"Apparently not," she told him in a mock-sorrowful tone, smiling. "If we could survive Christmas, I think we're permanent."

Neville nodded. "I still can't believe Ron went that far. It's the kind of thing he'd have done when we were fourteen; aren't we supposed to be adults now? Theoretically, at least..."

"God, let's not talk about him now. Tonight's depressing enough as it is."

"Copy your boyfriend, or whatever it is you call him," Neville suggested with a sigh. "Let's get pissed. Nothing else to do, is there?"

"Boyfriend," Hermione repeated, snorting. "He's in his fifties, you daft pillock. And I think I'm a bit old for boyfriends now, too."

"Yeah, you're thirty one; ancient." He grinned ruefully at her. "If you're this depressed, you definitely need another drink, before Snape necks it all."

"Oh, don't." She sighed. "He's a really miserable bastard when he's drunk. Tonight's going to be an absolute washout. Still, at least this part's nearly over," she added with a brief flare of optimism as the first chimes of midnight rang out.

"Twelve!" Minerva called. "Eleven... ten..."

As the countdown continued, the teachers half-heartedly mumbling along, Hermione turned to look at Severus, who was slouching against the wall with one hand in his pocket and an oddly thoughtful expression on his face. As she watched, he straightened up and put his champagne glass down, his eyes starting to glitter; she frowned in sudden suspicion, recognising his plotting expression, and as the countdown reached three he took his hand out of his pocket. On two, everything went dark.

Shocked cries rang out in the sudden pitch blackness, as the final chime echoed above the din of people stumbling over one another. Hermione fumbled for her wand, hearing people all around her trying light spells somewhat frantically and with absolutely no effect, and nearly screamed when hands grabbed her by the shoulders. She had a breathless second of sheer panic as she was pulled off balance, stumbling and falling against a solid and familiar body, before she was thoroughly and deeply kissed.

The hands let go after a long moment and she fell back against the wall, dazedly trying to work out what the hell had just happened; now that she had a moment to breathe, she recognised the thick blackness around them as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and even as she realised it the darkness began to diffuse and light crept back into the room. Everyone was staring around in confusion with their wands in their hands, some dazedly picking themselves up from where they had tripped over furniture or one another.

Slowly she turned to look at Severus, who was innocently standing in his corner with his wand out; even from here, she could see the faint powder smudges on his hand, as well as the suspicious flush of colour in his cheeks. She would recognise the taste and feel of his mouth anywhere, even without those subtle clues; he caught her eye and smirked, lifting his champagne glass to her in his free hand and mouthing, _Happy New Year._

Shaking her head and trying desperately not to laugh, she turned away and met Neville's confused gaze. "What the hell just happened?" he asked faintly, echoing her own thoughts.

Biting her lip to hold back giggles, Hermione did her best to look innocently bewildered. "I really don't know." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Severus dusting his hand off on his robes, and bit harder on her lip, shaking with the effort of controlling herself.

* * *

The evening had dissolved into chaos after that. Minerva had been furious, half-certain it was some kind of joke but with no suspects; Neville and Hermione were the most likely candidates, but since her only justification for that was that they were the youngest, the Headmistress was forced to let it go. Several of the staff members were looking askance at Filius Flitwick, strangely enough; apparently he had done something similar during a staff meeting under Umbridge once, which was presumably where Severus had got the idea.

The real culprit was clearly enjoying himself, smirking obviously enough that Neville had noticed it and worked out what had happened; the Herbology teacher was looking utterly bewildered now, apparently finding it difficult to believe that the dreaded Professor Snape actually had a sense of humour at all, let alone a playful one. Nobody else suspected a thing, so it seemed likely that he would get away with it, and he was looking very pleased with himself as he leaned against the wall absently humming Auld Lang Syne and watching the chaos he had caused.

"You bastard," she greeted him affectionately when they were finally allowed to leave. "You could have warned me! I nearly hexed you."

"Warned you about what?" he replied innocently, before snorting softly. "And I was shielding myself, naturally. I am not a fool."

"No, just completely mental." She grinned at him, certain that nobody was ever going to believe this story. "_You_ buy from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? That's an interesting mental image."

He gave her a look of disdain as they turned towards the dungeons. "Hardly. We have an entire store room full of confiscated contraband sitting around gathering dust. Some of it is proving quite useful; although I am certain that George Weasley would have given me the powder for nothing – especially if I had told him why I wanted it."

"True," she agreed, smiling. "I don't even want to know what made you do this."

"I wanted a kiss at midnight," he replied in a lofty tone, "and I saw no reason why I should allow Minerva McGonagall to prevent it."

"Daft sod," Hermione told him fondly. "It might have been a better kiss if you'd given me some warning. I didn't have time to respond."

"Then consider yourself warned," he told her, and she barely had time to register the almost mischievous gleam in his eyes before he pushed her against the wall and kissed her again. This time he lingered, allowing her to kiss him back, and she reached up to wind her fingers through his hair as she tasted champagne on his tongue before they reluctantly drew apart.

"Happy New Year, you lunatic," she told him gently, smiling a little. "Come on; you can help me think up some suitable resolutions."

It turned out that he had also stolen a bottle of champagne during the few seconds of darkness, shrinking it and putting it in his pocket; the rest of the night turned out to be much more enjoyable than the earlier portion had been. No, apparently, he couldn't get so drunk that he was unable to perform, much to their mutual satisfaction.

* * *

Hermione woke early on the morning of the ninth of January; she had made a number of plans for Severus' birthday and given that they both had to teach today she needed plenty of time to put them into action, and if any students managed to ruin things again this year she was going to lose her temper. It was one of his busiest days of the week, so when he left for breakfast she wasn't likely to see him again until after dinner (although she had one or two ideas on that score); she didn't think she'd have the time to attend lunch. There was quite a lot to do, but she allowed herself a few minutes to watch him sleeping first, listening to the slow and even rhythm of his breathing as she reflected on the past couple of years. _We've come a long way, _she mused idly, smiling a little.

Aware that she could only stare at him for a short while before he sensed it and woke up, she shifted onto her side and rose on her elbow, leaning over him and kissing him lightly. Waking Severus up before he was ready to wake could occasionally be dangerous, but he was nowhere near as jumpy as he used to be, and if he was dreaming anything it didn't seem to be affecting him, so she felt safe enough – although she was still ready to shield and get back if she'd misjudged it.

When she felt him starting to respond, Hermione broke the kiss and drew back to watch his face, as he opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy look. If the situation demanded it he could still wake instantly and be fully alert in the space of a heartbeat, but she had learned he preferred not to, and he was actually surprisingly cute when he woke up slowly – something she didn't plan on telling him. "Hello," he mumbled, blinking and stifling a yawn.

"Hello, yourself," she replied, smiling at him. "Happy birthday."

"Mm," he responded vaguely, closing his eyes again. Smiling again, she leaned in and kissed him once more. He murmured something that sounded like it might have been a comment on morning breath – hers or his, or both, she couldn't tell – but responded sincerely enough that he clearly didn't object. She settled against his side and he turned towards her as the kiss deepened; closing her eyes and relaxing as his arms slid around her, she rested a hand on his chest and slowly trailed her fingers down his body, across his stomach and over his hip to the heat and hardness of his morning erection.

He sighed into her mouth as she touched him, shifting slightly beneath her, and she gently wrapped her fingers around his shaft and began to stroke him slowly. Drawing away from his lips, she kissed the corner of his jaw and nuzzled at his neck, squeezing him gently in her hand until he groaned softly and arched into her touch. Slowly running her thumb around the head, she teased his foreskin back, feeling liquid on her fingers and slicking his length as she worked him a little more. Kissing his throat carefully, Hermione traced each of the two ragged scars with her tongue, feeling him shiver as his breath hitched; he was responding to that more than to her hand. Apparently the old snakebite was an extremely sensitive area, now that he had grown used to contact with his neck, although she wasn't sure if it was physical or psychological – or both, probably.

It was slow and oddly relaxed, as she kissed him again and continued to gently stroke him and he twined his fingers lazily through her hair, snagging in the tangled curls. She moved, sliding down the bed, gently kissing his skin as she went, until her mouth replaced her hand between his legs and he moaned softly in response. Finally his back arched and he groaned deep in his chest, shivering; the taste of him intensified before he came in her mouth. He relaxed bonelessly against the pillows with his eyes closed, smiling slightly, and she swallowed, then found her wand and carefully finished cleaning up. "Well," he observed after a pause, his voice an even deeper version of his usual morning growl, "that's certainly a pleasant way to wake up. Thank you."

Crawling back up the bed and leaning over, she kissed him gently before settling down once more, resting her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat slowing down as the taste of him lingered in her mouth. "You're very welcome."

"Allow me to return the favour?" he offered.

She shook her head, snuggling closer. "Not right now. You've got to get ready for breakfast; there's probably still time, but I'm not really in the mood for a quickie at the moment. You can owe me, if you like."

"A pleasant obligation, for a change," Severus replied dryly, sounding slightly more awake; she could hear a smile in his voice as he shifted closer. "Do I take it that you will not be present at breakfast, again?"

"I am not contractually obliged to be there, and I know you're jealous of that fact," she informed him mildly, smiling. "And I am busy this morning. Things to see to, birthday presents to arrange, classes to teach, that sort of thing."

"Indeed?"

"Mm-hm." Idly she picked up his necklace and started playing with it. "Having to work around your schedule is a real pain, you know."

"So sorry to inconvenience you," he told her insincerely, and she felt him shift beneath her as he stretched. "You have succeeded in utterly destroying what little motivation I had to get up, you know."

"You'll live. Go take your shower and start your day. Try not to kill any of your students, either," she added warningly. "I have several plans for you today and none of them involve you being lectured by Minerva or having to oversee detentions. Behave yourself."

He snorted softly and sat up as she disentangled herself from him, and they shared a lingering kiss before separating, Severus to the bathroom and Hermione to her rooms for her heavy winter cloak before she ventured out into the snowy darkness of a January morning in Scotland for the next phase of her plan.

This had taken a lot of research, she reflected as she gingerly picked her way through the snow, holding her illuminated wand in front of her. And she'd had a devil of a time keeping it from Severus, too; he wasn't nosy by nature, but he had an almost uncanny ability to notice and interpret the tiniest things, which was actually bloody annoying, she told herself with a fond smile as she wrapped her cloak more tightly around her.

"He couldn't possibly have been born in June," she complained softly to herself, shivering, as she stared up at the stone obelisk in the darkness. It would be more sensible to wait for daylight, but she did have actual work to do today, and in any case she didn't want to risk anyone finding out what she was doing until it was done. Taking a breath, she began patiently unravelling the layers of charms protecting the monument – and its sister in Diagon Alley – from everything from pigeons to deliberate vandalism, while leaving intact the Protean charm that linked the two.

Once that was done, she casually climbed onto the corner of Dumbledore's white marble tomb, brushing the snow out of the way carefully to get somewhere safe to stand. "Sorry, sir," she murmured, her breath steaming in the cold. "Still, I'm sure you wouldn't mind, especially if you knew what I was doing." She'd tell the portraits later, possibly; she was certain that they would heartily approve of this. Raising her wand, she studied the neatly etched names at the top of the obelisk; it was very tall, because there were a lot of names. Those who had died in active service in the Order were in black, the others in gold.

ALBUS  
PERCIVAL  
WULFRIC  
BRIAN  
DUMBLEDORE

HARRY  
JAMES  
POTTER

RONALD  
BILIOUS  
WEASLEY

HERMIONE  
JEAN  
GRANGER

MINERVA  
MCGONAGALL

KINGSLEY  
SHACKLEBOLT

ALASTOR  
'MAD-EYE'  
MOODY

...

Somewhat irrelevantly, she found herself wondering idly why Minerva and Kingsley didn't have middle names. Then again, perhaps it was just as well, given the kinds of names so many pureblood families gave their children; she remembered with a whimsical smile how hard Ron had argued to try and get out of having his middle name displayed. With a name like Bilious, she wasn't at all surprised. And admittedly Mad-Eye wasn't Moody's real middle name, but the overwhelming majority had voted for the nickname. She wasn't sure she agreed with herself, Harry and Ron being among the most important names so close to the top, either; Harry, yes, but she and Ron hadn't really been involved until the hunt for the Horcruxes, aside from the battle in the Ministry. Harry had insisted, though.

"Stop woolgathering, Hermione," she muttered, rubbing her hands together to try and coax some warmth back into her fingers. "Get this done, and go back inside where it's warm." Reaching out, she tapped her wand on the stone and started to shuffle the names, moving the first few up a little and the rest down. It took quite a while, but eventually she had a large enough space to work with. Taking a few minutes to rest and try to stamp some feeling back into her feet, she set to work, relieved that at least it wasn't snowing; engraving by magic wasn't easy even when you could see what you were doing. She found herself wishing that she'd enlisted Neville to come and hold his wand and cast some more light, or at least brought a torch, but it was a bit late to think of that now.

Finally it was done, and she took a careful step back on the marble tomb to admire her handiwork, wiping her forehead; despite the low temperatures, the concentration had left her feeling quite warm, or maybe that was just pleasure in seeing what she had done.

...

HERMIONE  
JEAN  
GRANGER

SEVERUS  
TOBIAS  
SNAPE

MINERVA  
MCGONAGALL

...

In an ideal world, she would have added Severus' name immediately after Harry's, or perhaps even before him, but she knew what she could get away with. Nobody would accept Severus receiving such a high place, and she knew Severus himself would argue. Besides, she had to admit she quite liked seeing their names together. Climbing down from Dumbledore's tomb, she touched her wand to the stone once more and started hastily reapplying the charms that would stop anyone from undoing her work or attempting to cross his name out or paint over it. This obelisk was linked to the main one in Diagon Alley; it might take a while, but eventually someone was going to notice the new name, at which point all hell would break loose.

Smiling to herself once it was done, she took another moment to admire the edited list; if the world wasn't going to recognise her lover willingly, she was damned well going to make them. Nodding in satisfaction, she checked her watch; time to head back inside and get ready for her first class of the day. She turned towards the castle, erasing her footprints in the snow as she went.

* * *

In the end, she did make it to lunch, although she was running late by then; she was too hungry not to, since she hadn't had breakfast – nothing solid, at least, she told herself, trying not to laugh as she took her seat next to Severus.

"You look pleased with yourself," he greeted her laconically as she helped herself to food, ravenous after the early morning in the cold and a long class. "Have you been having fun? I would like to know how you managed that."

Hermione grinned at him. "In a place like this, you have to make your own fun, as I believe I proved to you earlier," she told him primly, smiling as his eyes glittered with laughter and lazy heat in response. "And thus far, my plans are progressing satisfactorily, Professor Snape. Thank you for asking."

"I look forward to finding out the nature of these plans," he drawled, sounding amused and shamelessly helping himself from her plate, so deftly that she doubted anyone could have seen him.

Kicking him lightly in the shin by way of rebuke gave her an idea, and she grinned to herself as she started to eat. "Well, you're just going to have to wait," she told him, carefully slipping her shoe off under the table as she turned away and started chatting to Neville. It didn't take much to get her friend happily talking about his latest project – a hybrid something-or-other; she wasn't paying that much attention – which allowed her to nod and smile and occasionally make encouraging noises while she concentrated on what she was doing.

She felt Severus stiffen in momentary surprise as her now-bare foot touched his leg, before he relaxed with a barely-audible laugh and returned to his food; suppressing a smile, she managed to ask Neville a relevant question, and pretended to listen to the answer as she began to tease. By the time she dropped a hand below the table to rest on his thigh she could tell just from the temperature of his body through his robes that he was responding. Squeezing his leg gently, she started to move her hand upwards, and heard him whisper, "_Muffliato,_" before he gave her a reproving look as the familiar faint buzz filled her ears. "Stop that."

"Why?" she asked innocently. "Aren't you having fun?"

His lips twitched. "Rather more 'fun' than I am comfortable with in front of such a large audience," he replied dryly, barely moving his lips. "In addition, I would like to remind you that I am teaching all afternoon. Classes with the second years and the fifth years are tiresome enough; I do not need any distractions, thank you."

She grinned at him. "So you're saying I shouldn't sneak in to your practical class this afternoon and suck you off in the store cupboard, then?" she asked mischievously, trying not to move her lips just in case any of the students could lip-read. Hermione almost lost her composure completely at the look on his face; she could feel his sudden interest in the way his thigh had tensed under her hand and she could almost see him trying to work out whether they would get away with it.

After far too long a pause, he relaxed again and gave her an amused look. "I repeat, stop distracting me. Tempting though the idea is." Smiling back at him, she took her hand away and moved her foot as he lifted the charm, and returned to talking to Neville as she tried to get her shoe back on.

* * *

She managed to resist the urge to actually sneak down to the Potions classroom between her own classes that afternoon, but it was a surprisingly close thing. She suspected that the idea was probably more erotic than the reality would have been; in any case, she had work to do, ensuring that they could both have a free evening – that meant finishing her own paperwork before working her way through some of Severus' marking that she had stolen from the staff room that morning. She was getting better at mimicking his handwriting and general marking style, she reflected as she finished the last essay, although no doubt he would think that she hadn't been harsh enough.

Hermione left him well alone during dinner, spotting that he was fed up and irritable – not unusual after a long day of teaching, she had to admit. He really didn't enjoy it, and he was wasted teaching anything below at least OWL level if not NEWT. Slipping out well before the end of the meal, she hastened to the dungeons to check that her plans for the rest of the evening were all set up, before ducking through some of the secret passages he had taught her and making sure that when he left the Entrance Hall and moved out into the dark snowy evening for a cigarette, she was waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow at her by way of a greeting as he lit up, and she smiled, reaching for his free hand and tugging him away from the shelter of the castle wall. "I want to show you something."

"It's snowing," he complained mildly as he obediently followed her, picking his way carefully through the snow.

"It does that here in January. I'm sure you've noticed."

"I'll thank you to leave the sarcasm to me. Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He huffed in exasperation, but followed her anyway, giving her a puzzled look when the tomb came into view.

"A little morbid..."

"Is that why you usually come down here to brood?" she responded tartly, but softened it by smiling at him. "Go and take a look at the obelisk. Go on," she added firmly when he looked at her, and even pushed him towards it, watching as he raised his wand and cast _Lumos_.

Nobody else would have noticed, she knew; she imagined it would be quite a long time before someone spotted the change on the Diagon Alley monument, probably not until it next needed cleaning. But Severus had always been observant, from what she knew, and he had learned very early on to pay attention to his surroundings; years as a spy had taught him to see beyond the obvious, and it was only a few moments before she heard him draw in a sharp breath and saw him tense as he stared upwards. Slowly she walked forwards and stood next to him, looking up at the wand light glittering off the engraved names.

"Oh, Hermione," he murmured softly after a long moment, looking down at her. He paused, before continuing in a different tone, "You're going to cause a riot when someone realises what you've done."

Not fooled for a moment by the flippant remark – he was genuinely touched, even if he was refusing to admit it – she smiled at him and shrugged dismissively. "It'll be weeks if not months before anyone notices, and nobody will know it was me. There's no way of knowing which monument was changed, and there is more than one person prepared to admit that you were on our side."

Severus arched an eyebrow at her, flicking his cigarette into the snow. "But the list of people who would put my name so high is extremely small. In fact, I believe such a list would consist of you. And possibly Potter, I suppose, if he felt guilty enough."

"You're welcome, Severus, since I'm sure you actually meant to say 'thank you'," she told him dryly, and he smiled ruefully in response, turning to glance back up at the stone before looking down at her again.

"Sorry. Thank you."

"That's better." Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. "Happy birthday. Now let's get inside before we freeze to death."

"I've been quite warm today, actually," he told her pointedly as they headed back towards the castle.

She grinned impishly at him. "Distracting thoughts, hm?"

"Extremely distracting," he agreed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Especially when I needed to fetch something from the store cupboard."

Hermione smothered a laugh. "Sorry about that."

"Liar."

* * *

Once back in the dungeons, she presented him with his completed marking, accepting the grateful look and handing him a bottle of the obscure beer he favoured; that hadn't been easy to get hold of up here, either. "I could get used to this, you know," he observed as he stretched out comfortably on the battered old sofa.

She grinned at him. "Peasant. I suggest you _don't _get used to it. Birthdays are special occasions; you can damned well wait on yourself the rest of the year."

Smirking slightly, he raised the bottle to her in a mocking toast and took a drink, relaxing. "Thank you, in any case."

"You still have one or two presents to come," Hermione told him, smiling as he looked at her curiously. "Can I have your necklace for a moment?"

Somewhat to her surprise, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why? What are you going to do to it?"

Blinking at this reaction, she replied slowly, "I was only going to Transfigure it into something a bit better than resin and cheap metal."

His eyes slid away from hers. "I'd rather you didn't..."

"Why not?" she asked curiously, leaning forward to maintain eye contact with him as much as possible, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I like it the way it is."

"Severus, I'm pretty sure I got it from a Christmas cracker. It's strung on what looks very much like a shoe lace."

He shook his head stubbornly, still not looking at her. "I don't care."

"Severus?" she asked gently, and after a moment he sighed and looked up.

"It's the best present I've ever had," he told her quietly.

She stared at him. "You can't be serious."

Slowly he reached under the neck of his robe and drew the yin-yang out, turning it over in his fingers. "It's the first time someone gave me anything that really meant something, that was significant and personal and not just for the sake of fulfilling a gift-giving obligation."

_Oh, Severus. _She understood now. Reaching out, she gently took the necklace from his fingers and tucked it back under his robe, smiling at him when he looked at her. "Okay," she told him softly, before smiling again. "I hope you at least had the sense to put a couple of charms on it to stop it falling apart."

"Naturally," he replied, looking happier now and relaxing a little.

"Nobody likes a smart aleck."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. "I was under the impression that you did, actually."

"I love you, Severus. It doesn't mean that I'm required to like you," she told him dryly. "Which is just as well, since you're not at all likeable." Standing up, she leaned down and kissed him gently. "Finish your beer. I'll be back in a few minutes."

* * *

When she returned, Hermione held a jar in her hand, and Severus smiled at her, clearly recognising it. As he should, really, since it held the latest and probably the final version of his scar treatment; Bill had reported happily that it seemed to be working better than the first attempts had. Smiling back at him, she beckoned to him and padded into the bedroom, and when he followed her she turned to him and kissed him before wordlessly beginning to remove his clothing, taking her time.

He had a lot of scars; it took a long time to carefully treat them all, especially since she was so used to them by now that she genuinely didn't notice a lot of the individual marks. She left his back for last, since it was the worst, and finally straddled his hips as he lay on his stomach and looked down at his back, at the shape of his shoulder blades, the line of his spine, the play of the long muscles under his pale skin. So many scars... Leaning down, she set to work, gently kissing each mark before carefully applying a small amount of salve, using it more as a massage oil than as a serious medical treatment now.

Working her way up to his shoulders, Hermione slowly traced her fingers along the deepest scars, the ones that looked like whip marks; she'd never openly asked about specific scars, and he had never volunteered any information, except for the single self-harm scar behind the Dark Mark. Leaning over him once more, she gently ran her tongue over the worst parts, feeling the ridges and furrows of the skin, before slowly working some of the ointment into the slick scar tissue, blinking away the tears as they began to form. "So much pain," she whispered, barely aware that she was speaking aloud until she felt him shiver beneath her in response and heard him sigh in wordless agreement.

Finished at last, she drew away, capping the jar of salve and laying it down; when she turned to look back at him he had rolled over and was watching her silently, his dark eyes deep and fathomless and holding the indescribable look that he always wore whenever she said that she loved him. She strongly suspected that she was the only person who had ever said that to Severus in all the fifty one years of his life; he deserved so much more than those loveless scars. Moving back to the bed, she looked down at him and he reached out to draw her down beside him, kissing her gently. Neither of them spoke; there was no need to.

She kissed the scars on his neck as he began to remove her clothes in turn, his hands and then his mouth slowly travelling across her skin as it was bared to him. Straddling his hips, she leaned down and kissed him, closing her eyes and losing herself in the familiar taste and feel of his mouth as his erection pressed against her, before he arched his back a little and she shifted, sitting up and reaching between them to guide him inside her. He sighed as she sank onto him, his fingers tightening on her hips as he filled her.

Feeling him throb inside her, she clenched her muscles around him in response, reaching down to gently grasp his hands; holding his wrists loosely, she leaned forward, resting her weight on his arms and pinning his wrists to the bed. It wasn't a true restraint; even with the extra leverage of her position, she wasn't strong enough to hold him down, nor would she ever have attempted to do so. He had warned her against bondage a very long time ago, and the idea held no appeal anyway; that wasn't the point of this. She wasn't trying to stop him doing anything, merely making it clear that he didn't actually have to do anything.

Severus got the point; she felt a moment of instinctive tension as his arms flexed under her hands and his back arched a little, before he exhaled slowly and relaxed, his body growing loose and pliable beneath her as he lay back and looked up at her with hazy eyes, surrendering to her – physically, at least, although there was a gleam in his eyes that belied his passive body language. Smiling, she kissed him again as she began to move, fighting the urge to close her eyes, watching him beneath her.

He moved a little beneath her as she rode him, his hips rising and falling to match her rhythm, but he seemed quite happy to lie there and let her have her way with him. Starting to breathe harder, she laughed softly down at him. "It's not often I see you so submissive..."

He snorted, smiling up at her. "If you want to do all the work, who am I to argue?"

Shifting her knees a little further apart on either side of his hips, she grinned and squeezed her muscles around him in response, making him groan. "You and I are two of the most argumentative people in existence, Severus."

"True," he conceded, sounding slightly breathless now as he arched his back, straining momentarily against her grip. "Oh, do that again..."

It wasn't often he was that vocal, either, Hermione reflected as she did as he asked. He was moving more now, thrusting up to meet her each time she sank onto him; he wasn't passive by nature, and she certainly wasn't going to complain if he wanted to take a more active role now. Releasing his wrists, she sat up straighter, beginning to gasp and shiver as she drew closer. She increased the speed of her movements, and he matched her; as her orgasm broke over her, he cried out her name, bucking beneath her as he came with her.

* * *

_Two more pieces of fan art, both from **Ridgley Warfield: **_therapist-in-a-box dot deviantart dot com /#/d3eurwj _and _therapist-in-a-box dot deviantart dot com /#/d3eurh9 _  
_


	39. Chapter 39

_A belated happy birthday to **RaShelli**. Be warned, here be lots and lots of drama.__  
_

* * *

**"If your time to you is worth savin'**  
** Then you better start swimmin'**  
** Or you'll sink like a stone**  
** For the times they are a-changin'**.**"**  
– Bob Dylan, 'The Times They Are A-Changin''.

* * *

Around the middle of January, Hermione found an interesting note in her morning mail...

_Okay, Hermione, you've made your point. It was funny, and Merlin knows Ron deserves everything you did and more, but he can't go to work like that. What's the counter-curse?_

_Harry_

* * *

She studied the letter thoughtfully, frowning slightly in momentary puzzlement, before sighing in resignation as she came to a conclusion. "Severus?" she called.

"Yes?" came the distant response.

"Come here. Now, please."

"I'm in the middle of something. Is it important?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Give me a minute."

He emerged from the direction of the laboratory a few minutes later, wiping his hands on his robe, and raised an eyebrow inquiringly at her. "What is it?"

"What did you do to Ron?"

"Pardon?"

She held up the letter. "Harry's written to me, asking for the counter curse because Ron can't go to work. Now, I haven't done anything to Ron, mostly because if I started I'd never stop. If it was one of the others, I'd assume they would have admitted it by now. So that leaves you. What did you do to him?"

Leaning against the door frame, Severus smirked at her. "Absolutely nothing."

"Severus."

"I swear to you that I did nothing to Ronald Weasley."

Hermione thought about this; she wasn't stupid enough to accept that statement at face value, not from the Head of Slytherin House, and she had known Severus for too long to let him get away with it. "All right, then, what did you contrive to make him do to himself?"

"Ah, now that's an interesting question."

She sighed. "Severus, just answer me."

He came into the room and rolled his eyes. "Potter thought it was you? Getting Weasley's hair to turn that precise shade of Slytherin green was rather time consuming. I did not realise I would have to sign my name on his face for people to get the message."

Hermione stared at him. "You turned his hair green," she said slowly.

He waved a hand dismissively. "That was only a side effect, to let him know who was responsible – although apparently I was still too subtle for him."

"So what did you actually do?" He smirked at her again and didn't answer. "Severus, please, no more games. If you've left him unable to work..."

"I haven't. He is physically capable of doing his job. He is simply too vain to want to, under the circumstances." Still smirking, he sauntered across the room and lounged casually against the wall, looking far too pleased with himself; the gleam in his eyes was vindictive, to say the least. "I wonder if he's discovered all the problems yet."

"If you don't give me a straight answer, Severus Tobias Snape, you're sleeping on the sofa tonight."

"You can't kick me out of my own bed, especially not inside Hogwarts," he pointed out accurately, and she glared at him.

"Watch me."

His eyes glittered and for a moment he seemed about to challenge her, before he snorted and leaned his head back against the stone, his smirk fading to a slightly less ominous smile of malicious amusement. "There are quite a number of symptoms. I suspect the one he is least pleased about is the impotence..."

"You rendered him impotent?"

"Yes, and no. He is still functional... until the moment he tries to do anything, at which point he will find himself unable to perform; although I can't see that being much of an issue if the dragon's-breath halitosis has kicked in." Severus studied his fingernails. "As I mentioned, his hair is currently vivid Slytherin green. What's left of it, anyway, since he has also started going bald. And he has gained rather a lot of weight," he added nonchalantly. "If it worked the way it was supposed to, he will be about the size of Slughorn by now, although without the moustache."

Hermione thought about this for a few minutes. It didn't take a genius to see why he'd done it; Ron had called her old, ugly and fat, basically, as well as a whore, so Severus had evidently made Ron old, ugly and fat and unable to be a whore in retaliation. She had to admit there was a certain poetic justice to that, and part of her took an enormous amount of spiteful satisfaction in imagining it. "How did you do it?" she asked absently, lost in thought.

He shrugged. "I sent him a letter. The spell was in the sealing wax. When he broke it, it activated."

She thought about it for a while longer before looking at him. He wasn't smiling any more; studying his closed-off expression, she realised that he thought she was angry with him for doing it. "It seems rather... childish, for you," she said slowly. "I would have expected you to be more vicious."

Severus shrugged again, staring across the room. "Weasley's an Auror; their offices are ringed with spells designed to detect harmful magic. In any case, it was humiliate him or kill him, and I felt you would prefer it if I let him live." He hesitated, then sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. "Besides, it would be hypocritical of me to punish him too severely for speaking without thinking, when I have done the exact same thing myself."

_Of course... _It made sense that he would be upset by what Ron had said; he'd watched the younger wizard duplicate his mistake with equally hurtful consequences. The parallels with his own life were obvious now that she thought about it. "Fortunately for Ronald, I am more forgiving than Lily was," she said quietly; she hadn't forgiven Ron yet, and wouldn't for a very long time, but she wasn't going to sever all contact with him for the rest of their lives either, although she did wish that he had been as frantic to apologise as Severus had been. He didn't respond, and after a moment she asked, "What is the counter curse?"

"There isn't one." His voice was flatter now and he was quite obviously waiting for her to lose her temper with him; his expression was guarded as he looked at her.

"You cursed him without working out a counter?"

"The effects will wear off gradually."

"How gradually?" She had a vision of an overweight, balding, green-haired Ron wandering around for months, and firmly hid her laughter. _It's not funny, _she told herself sternly as she waited for a reply.

"A week or two. A month at most." After a pause, Severus added more coldly, "Unless he's stupid enough to use that word again."

"What will happen to him if he does?"

"Nothing pleasant."

Studying his expression, Hermione concluded that she probably didn't want to know. She suspected it wouldn't be anything as benign, as childish or as painless as halitosis. "I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me, Severus."

That earned her a defensive scowl. "In this instance, yes, you do," he retorted. "You were just going to let him get away with it. Not speaking to him only works if he appreciates what he's lost. He deserved to be made to pay."

"It wasn't you he insulted," she reminded him quietly.

"I have the right," he replied, giving her an oddly defiant look, and she blinked. With those four words, he'd just invoked ancient customs that even the oldest pureblood families didn't use any more; in effect, he had just declared himself her champion, willing to die for her honour above his own. It was very medieval and undeniably chauvinistic, and yet part of her swooned at the gesture.

"That only applies in marriage..."

"Do not split hairs with me," he snapped, starting to get angry now. "By rights I should have called him out, challenged him to a duel and ripped him apart on your behalf."

"Legally, you don't have that right."

He froze for a painfully long moment. "Do I not?" he asked finally in a voice of pure ice that she hadn't heard in years. Suddenly realising that she'd backed herself into a corner, Hermione scrambled to rectify what could have been a horrific mistake.

"I said 'legally'," she said hastily. "I'm not sure those laws even exist any more."

Severus relaxed fractionally, but his dark eyes were shadowed. "Nonetheless, I claim the right," he said firmly. "Weasley needed to be punished for what he said. You are too sentimental for your own good at times, so I did it for you. In deference to your sentimentality, I left him alive and more or less unharmed."

"You did break his nose," she pointed out, and he actually looked pleased.

"Did I? Good."

Slowly Hermione walked across the room to him, looking up into his eyes. "You claim the right, do you?" she murmured; feminism was all very well, but she certainly couldn't deny that her knees were weak.

His eyes were very dark indeed as he regarded her quietly. "Yes."

Breathing out slowly, she smiled at him and reached up to touch his cheek. "Well, I can't argue with that." He smiled back at her and relaxed, leaning into her touch.

* * *

_Harry, it was nothing to do with me. Ron actually got off very lightly. It will wear off in a week or two, so I'm told – and he had better keep his mouth shut in future. The next time he so much as gives me a funny look, Severus will kill him. He's turned very protective since Christmas. And you and I both know that Ron deserves far worse than he got. Let him suffer for a while. It might do him some good, although after all these years I'm not holding my breath._

_Hermione._

* * *

"You're serious? He actually claimed right of honour?"

"Mm-hm." Hermione stirred her tea.

"But that's... I mean, wow." Neville stared at her. "That's... pretty serious, 'Mione. I mean, as serious as it gets. He's basically said he'll die to avenge you if someone... I dunno, wolf-whistles at you, or something. Nobody uses it any more."

"I know." She picked up her mug and cradled it in her hands, sipping carefully.

"Why are you talking to me about it? I mean, I don't mind, but..."

"Because you're pureblood, so you can explain it properly, but you're male so you won't squeal or start crying on me," she replied logically. "I love Ginny like a sister, but when she gets excited she hits notes only dogs can hear."

Neville grinned. "Is that a Snape quote? It sounds like him."

"No, but I'm afraid it may have been influenced by him."

"Okay, well like I said, nobody uses it any more, really. I dunno if it would still be legal or not. But it's like... you know how France used to accept crimes of passion as a legal defence?" She nodded and he went on, "A wizard could challenge someone to a duel and kill him if he could prove that he was defending a lady's honour and that he had the right to do so. It was really only husbands championing their wives, but sometimes a father could claim for his unmarried daughter, under certain circumstances. I don't think Snape could get away with it, since you're not married."

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "We're close enough to married that it shouldn't make any difference. It's only a piece of paper, Neville – we've got the rings already."

"Legally, it's quite an important piece of paper," he replied with a smile before shrugging and laughing. "I'd pay a lot of money to see him argue it in court, though. So he said that's why he hexed Ron?"

"Mm-hm."

Neville studied her for a long moment before grinning and shaking his head. "Earth to Hermione."

"What?"

"You're staring dreamily into the distance," her friend informed her, "with the soppiest smile on your face that I have ever seen. Which is sort of creepy. I've never actually seen you daydreaming before."

"Oh, God. Was I really?"

"Yep, 'fraid so." He grinned at her. "You've finally turned into a girl. We always knew this day would come."

"Oh, shut up."

Neville actually fluttered his eyelashes at her. "But it's so romantic."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Go ahead, plant boy, keep teasing me. I'll tell Severus you were mocking his romantic tendencies." There was a pause while they both tried to imagine the Potions master's reaction, before she caught Neville's eye again and they both dissolved into helpless laughter.

When they had both caught their breath, he grinned at her again. "By the way, have you seen the _Quibbler _yet?"

"No – Luna couldn't send me an advance copy this month, she was too busy..." Hermione trailed off. "But by your expression, you got your advance copy. Oh, hell. What's she done?"

"Nothing bad. I don't think. Here, let me find it..." He rooted around and unearthed the magazine. "It's at the end of her editorial column, that foreword bit she does at the front."

Hermione read it aloud slowly. "'_And in other news, I was pleased to notice the other day that someone has finally got around to adding Professor Snape's name to the Order of the Phoenix war memorial. It's nice to see him where he belongs after all these years, isn't it?'_" She put the magazine down. "Well, I suppose it's not too surprising that she's the one who spotted it, and better the _Quibbler _than the _Prophet._"

"So it was you, then?"

"Who else would it have been?" she retorted. "Harry wouldn't have thought of it, and if he had, he'd have started campaigning to get it done officially. Nobody else would have bothered."

"I guess that's true, but I sort of wondered if he'd done it himself..."

She shook her head. "No, he wouldn't have done. He still doesn't really think that highly of himself and what he did, you know."

"Despite your best efforts?" Neville suggested innocently, and she smiled in response.

"True, but it's certainly not for lack of trying. Anyway, yes, it was me. I wasn't expecting anyone to notice this soon, actually – I only did it a couple of weeks ago. Well, this ought to be interesting, at least."

* * *

The Ministry had jumped to the same conclusion that Neville had. Two days later, Severus received a long and threatening letter accusing him of vandalising the monument, which was mostly an unsubtle attempt to find out how he'd done it – evidently they had thought the magic protecting the obelisks was impregnable. He dealt with it by sending the letter back to them immediately with the words _Prove it _scrawled across the most pompous paragraph, and began arbitrarily incinerating everything else the Ministry sent him without reading it, telling Hermione that he intended to keep doing so even if they got bored simply because any mail from them was never worth reading anyway.

The _Prophet _picked up the story the following week, but even they couldn't spin it out much; yes, his name had been added, but so what? A couple of unnamed Order members had been quoted as saying that they didn't mind, and the newspaper was evidently still too nervous to actually try and talk to Severus, so it only rated a couple of paragraphs of them aimlessly speculating about why he might have done it. Nobody seemed to consider that it might not have been him at all.

Inside Hogwarts, the students didn't seem to care in the slightest. Amongst the staff, Minerva and the other old guard had eyed Severus askance for a couple of days, and the Headmistress had made one catty comment about ambition that said she wasn't exactly pleased that his name was above hers, but their reactions had all been quite restrained. Hermione had commented on it to Severus, who had raised an eyebrow and replied mildly, "Time heals a lot of wounds. Try not to imagine what would have happened had you done this _last _year."

He had a point there.

* * *

On a cold and snowy Sunday at the end of January, Hermione's reading was interrupted by a small silvery terrier. The Patronus actually managed to look sheepish as it spoke in Ron's voice. _"I'm on my way to Hogwarts. Could you meet me by the gates, please, Hermione? I've come to apologise. I'll be there soon." _The dog dissolved into nothingness, and Hermione stared pensively at the place where it had stood before she felt eyes on her and looked up. Crookshanks was sitting nearby with his ears back and a disapproving glare on his squashed face; he'd never liked Ron much. Severus stood in the doorway behind the cat, wearing a similar expression, although without the pinned-back ears or the fluffed-up tail.

"Are you going to meet him?" he asked in a clipped voice.

She sighed and put her book down. "If I don't, he'll only come up here and make a fuss until I do."

"Not if the gates won't allow him to pass," he muttered.

"And how would you explain that?" she retorted. "Minerva would investigate to see who was overriding her authority, and you know it." She stood up. "It's all right, Severus. He won't try anything, and if he does, I'll hex him into next week. He knows that. I'll hear him out, and then I'll come back here."

"I'm coming with you."

"Severus..."

"I said, I'm coming with you," he said flatly. Looking into his black eyes, she realised there was no point arguing with him. Even if she forbade him to do so, he'd either ignore her completely and do so anyway or just follow after her. Sweet though this new protective side of him was, she hoped he'd relax soon.

"You do realise that I don't need protecting, certainly not from Ron?" she asked mildly.

He looked at her. "I'm not going because I think you need guarding. I'm going because I want a word with Weasley, and because I'm not convinced that you'll be able to stay angry if he starts begging and I don't want you to give in and let him off the hook."

"And because there's a good chance he'll say something that will give you an excuse to hit him again?" she asked tartly. Without waiting for an answer, she shook her head. "Fine, but you're giving me your wand, just in case. And I want you to promise that you'll behave."

Severus gave her a sour look, but drew his wand and handed it to her without arguing. "I will if he does."

"That's not good enough, Severus. I trust you more than I trust him, so I need you to be the responsible one and promise to behave yourself. For me."

After a long moment, he sighed. "I can't make that promise unconditionally, Hermione. You know that. But I will do my best."

She thought about this. If Ron did say anything that set off one of Severus' triggers, then frankly he deserved a beating. Severus was quite capable of ignoring almost every insult, so she supposed she could accept the few things he physically couldn't ignore. "All right, then. Thank you."

* * *

It took everything she had not to burst out laughing when she caught sight of her ex-boyfriend. The curse hadn't entirely worn off yet; his hair was slowly growing back in at the front, and the new hair was its natural colour, but the rest was a rather muddy colour as the green faded, and he was still a bit overweight. Hermione savoured the amusement, because the sight of him also made her feel angry and hurt all over again and she had grown tired of feeling like that because of Ron Weasley when she was twelve. He was staring at the ground, and didn't look up as she walked through the snow towards him with Severus a dark looming shadow behind her.

"If you've come to apologise just because you hope that will make it wear off faster, you can leave right now, Ronald Weasley," she said quietly.

"That's not why I'm here," he muttered in reply before looking up. His eyes widened a little when he saw Severus, and his already pale face lost a bit more colour as he swallowed hard before he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself. Hermione noticed that his nose was slightly more crooked now; this recent break had added to a number of old Quidditch accidents.

"Did your mother or Harry order you to come and apologise, then?" she asked tartly.

He shook his head. "No. Is that what you think of me?"

"Have you given me much reason to think better of you lately?" _Or at all? _The very fact that it had taken him a solid month to actually come and say sorry spoke volumes, really.

"I guess not." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I – I was drunk, and I lost my temper."

"Alcohol is never an excuse, Weasley," Severus said quietly, moving to stand next to Hermione rather than looming over her shoulder. "It brings out what is already there, nothing more." He should know, she reflected, recalling what she knew of his childhood and the years he had spent apparently trying to drink himself to death.

"I know it's not an excuse... sir. I just..." He floundered, gesturing vaguely as he tried to find the right words. She noticed that Severus didn't tell _him_ not to call him 'sir'; evidently he didn't feel that the younger wizard had earned the right to use his name. Ron huffed, his shoulders sagging. "I dunno what else to say."

"Then allow me to speak," Severus interjected softly. His voice was low, cold and velvety and very dangerous. "If you ever, _ever_ say anything like that to or about Hermione again and I hear about it, I will kill you. Is that understood?" It was very clear that he wasn't being melodramatic and saying it for effect, but meant every word; she was glad that she had his wand. He could almost certainly kill wandlessly, admittedly, but it was hopefully less likely.

Ron swallowed hard and nodded. "Yessir."

"Good." Severus moved a few steps closer; Ron was several inches taller, but somehow the older wizard seemed to be looking down at him. "You hurt her very deeply, boy," he said even more quietly. "Don't do it again. I hope for your sake that you have learned from this." Turning sharply on his heel, he stalked off through the snow for a few yards, far enough to give the two of them some privacy; turning back to face them, he folded his arms across his chest and scowled darkly, settling back into looming mode.

Fidgeting, Ron gave her a shaky and uncertain grin. "He's still scary as ever."

"Actually, this is him behaving himself," Hermione replied dryly, glancing affectionately at her protective wizard. She appreciated him giving them both some space, but she strongly suspected that he could read lips, which did rather negate the gesture. Looking back at Ron, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and waited; if he thought he could get away with such a brief apology, he was sadly mistaken.

He visibly wilted under her stare and looked down at the snow. "I really am sorry, Hermione. I... dunno why I said any of that. It – wasn't jealousy, really, 'cause we've been over a long time. I... I think I was mad that everyone else already knew, and I couldn't understand why nobody else thought it was a big deal. And I didn't understand why _him, _when he was always so foul to us. And I was drunk – I know that's not an excuse, but..." He half-smiled ruefully. "I've never been good at keeping my mouth shut even when I'm sober."

"That's an understatement," she agreed quietly, before sighing. "I wanted to tell you before, Ron. It wasn't fair for you to find out like that. But I knew you'd take it badly, and I at least wanted to be able to see you long enough to say 'merry Christmas' before you lost your temper and stormed off. I know you don't like Severus, either – you've made that pretty clear over the years. That doesn't excuse anything you said."

Ron nodded meekly. "I know. But I've never – I mean, I don't believe... that word. It's never bothered me that you're Muggleborn. You know that, right?" he added, glancing around anxiously; at least he'd had enough sense not to repeat the word. She didn't think she could have stopped Severus twice, and she really didn't want to find out what sort of curse he had laid on it.

"I know. You said it to hurt me and to make Severus angry. You succeeded admirably on both counts," she added coldly.

He flinched. "Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't mean any of the rest of what I said, either. I was just trying to hurt you. None of it was true. And I really am sorry."

That was probably as much as she was going to get, Hermione reflected, and it wasn't as if there was anything he could say that would make up for what had happened. She sighed, relaxing fractionally. "I know you are." After a moment she asked, "Is Harry speaking to you yet?" It hadn't struck her at the time, but she had realised afterwards that Ron had indirectly insulted Lily as well, which hadn't helped Severus keep his temper.

"Sort of," he answered, kicking at the snow and shoving his hands into his pockets. His robe was too tight, she noted with a brief stab of petty satisfaction; she hated feeling girly and insecure about how she looked. "He's still angry, but... sort of. Everyone's angry," he added, "but I think they've decided you're the one with the right to hate me."

"I don't hate you, Ron," she replied wearily. "I don't like you at the moment, it's true, but I don't actually hate you." She supposed she had the war to thank for that; it was hard to truly hate a friend who'd merely said something spiteful in a moment of temper when you'd encountered Voldemort and his followers. Nothing else was likely to equal that degree of hatred, after all.

"Well. I guess that's something, anyway." After a short pause, he risked a brief glance at Severus before looking back at her. "He doesn't really have the right to get so angry on your behalf, you know. I understand why he'd be angry himself – you're right, that's partly why I said it – but he doesn't have the right to fight your battles."

Under different circumstances she would have burst out laughing at the echo of what had already been said before. As it was, she managed a brief smile before saying quietly and with deliberate emphasis, "He _claims_ otherwise."

For once, Ron got the point immediately, and his eyes widened. "Really?" She nodded, and he glanced around uncertainly before swallowing and reaching up to touch his still-thin, still-greenish hair. "...I feel less angry about this, now."

Hermione nodded. "The only reason he didn't kill you is because he thought it would upset me further." Well, that and the fact that Severus had made the exact same mistake himself in the past, but even though Ron already knew that story she wasn't going to mention it now.

"Duly noted," the redhead replied in a strangled tone. He hesitated before giving her a pleading look. "Am I forgiven?" he asked plaintively.

_Severus didn't need to worry, _she mused as she looked at him. Even when they were young, this particular approach had always annoyed her. "Not by Severus, no; he'll never forgive that, and he won't forget it either, even if he lives for another century or more. But he won't mention it again, as long as you behave yourself." She glanced affectionately at the dark and glowering figure nearby, before looking back at Ron and sighing. "I haven't forgiven you yet either, but I don't hold grudges as long as Severus does. I'm sure I will eventually; I always do. But sooner or later, Ron, you are going to push me too far – you came very close to it this time." She had been hurt, deeply, but so had Severus, and that was harder to forgive.

Ron nodded, looking subdued. "I guess that's fair." After a moment he ventured a smile. "You never used to tolerate a bloke being overprotective."

Relenting, she smiled back at him. "It's a lot more difficult to persuade Severus not to do something he's decided to do. He only does it on special occasions. I've appreciated having him looking out for me recently, and he'll stop once he's convinced that I'm feeling better." Pausing for a moment, she added quietly, "By the way, Ron, don't ever call him Snivellus again. It hurts him more than he'll ever admit; it hurts him enough that if I ever hear you use that name again, I'll make you pay for it."

Severus hadn't once referred to Ron's use of his old despised nickname, but he didn't have to; she knew how much he hated it and how much it hurt. She would do far more than merely punish Ron in order to keep that wounded look out of those black eyes. Meeting Ron's gaze now, she saw that he understood that she meant it, before he nodded slowly, at least having the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself.

"You're protecting him, too?"

"It looks that way, doesn't it." Not that Severus was particularly in need of protecting, of course.

"I didn't realise the two of you were so serious..."

"You didn't _want _to realise," she corrected him gently. "I don't do casual, you know that. And come on, Ron, do you really think I'd have risked letting you all know about him if it wasn't serious? I did expect a few negative reactions, after all."

"Good point, I guess." He glanced hesitantly towards the older wizard, frowning slightly and looking a little puzzled, before looking back at her almost guiltily. "...I still don't really understand why, though. Why _him?_"

Hermione smiled and shrugged. "Because. Love doesn't really need reasons, Ron. There's lots of things I could tell you – he's intelligent, he's caring, we have a similar sense of humour, we like a lot of the same things, he's been very good to me, he's apologised and explained most of his nastiness when I was younger, and I know you won't want to hear this but he's very good in bed... but mostly it's just _because._" He nodded slowly, frowning again as he thought about it.

As if on cue, Severus chose that moment to decide that they had been talking long enough, and strode over to take up his previous place next to Hermione, standing there in silence. Once again, she found herself appreciating the sheer force of his personality; he hadn't said a word, and compared to earlier he didn't even look particularly threatening, but just by standing there he caused Ron to go a few shades paler and start fidgeting again. Reaching out, she laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently, feeling the stiff tension in his muscles that made it clear he wasn't happy, turning her head and smiling up at him; his dark eyes softened fractionally in response. "All right, Severus. Ron's going."

Ron's head bobbed as he nodded frantically, clearly anxious to avoid another disaster. It had to have been humiliating for him, Hermione considered in some amusement; he was an Auror and a Quidditch athlete, and a shorter, thinner, less muscled and arguably more physically damaged man twenty years his senior had taken him down without any apparent effort and without needing magic.

Severus said nothing, merely stared at Ron expressionlessly and waited. After a moment the younger wizard swallowed. "Well, uh... bye, then, 'Mione. I'll – see you around, yeah?"

Resisting the urge to smile, she nodded. "Bye, Ron." With one last nervous glance at Severus, Ron turned away and Disapparated, and Hermione turned to regard her lover with an expression of mock disapproval. "Was that little territorial display really necessary?"

"I didn't actually do anything," he pointed out.

"You don't have to, Severus. You can make the first years wet themselves at fifty paces without saying a word."

He gave her an amused look. "Flatterer."

Laughing softly, she took his arm as they walked back through the gates and up the drive. "Thank you for behaving yourself."

"I didn't do it for you," he replied untruthfully. "One more murder really will land me in Azkaban."

"Of course," she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. They both knew he was lying, but it didn't really matter. "I thought you were immune to testosterone poisoning."

"There's nothing wrong with my testosterone levels, as you should be well aware of by this point."

She rolled her eyes, smiling at the innuendo in his tone. "Lecher. You know that isn't what I meant. You're utterly incorrigible," she added fondly, looking up at him. He gave her a rare smile and disentangled his arm from hers to drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer as they walked.

* * *

As ever, Valentine's Day brought a wash of pink spreading through the castle. Hermione woke early and groaned before prodding Severus awake so that he could get rid of it; he opened one eye, glared briefly around the room and closed it again. Rolling over, he stretched out an arm and placed the palm of his hand against the wall above the headboard, and after a moment the pink tinge slowly seeped away from the room.

"I can even hear music. She's outdone herself this year," she commented drowsily.

"Mm," he mumbled vaguely in response, curling up again under the blankets.

"Will you do my classroom and office this year if I ask nicely?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

"Why not?"

He cracked open one eye again, apparently realising that she wasn't going to let him go back to sleep. "How would you explain it?"

"How do you explain your classroom not being pink?"

"I don't. People don't question me."

She smiled. "Well, there is that, I suppose. Why does Minerva do this? I can accept that she misses Albus demonstrating his complete lack of taste, but this reminds me far too much of Umbridge."

Severus groaned faintly and rolled over again. "It is far too early in the morning to remind me of that woman," he complained in a muffled voice.

"I take it she was as popular with the staff as she was with us?"

"You cannot even begin to imagine." He opened both eyes and stifled a yawn, starting to look a little more awake. He smiled slightly. "We had several competitions and wagers running in the staff room to see who could inconvenience her the most. Minerva won, but it was a very close thing."

"What did you do to her?"

"After her third bout of gastric flu, Albus forbade me to do anything directly, which rather put me out of the running; it was probably just as well, because I was very close to simply killing her. Filius singlehandedly ruined every staff meeting she called. Minerva broke into her office once and changed all those ghastly kitten plates of hers to real colours – tabby and ginger and so on, rather than pink or purple – and fixed their crossed eyes and removed their bows. She was quite insulted by those plates, I think. Mostly, we simply played passive-aggressive – and shamelessly encouraged the better pranksters among the students."

"Oh?" she asked, grinning and remembering Minerva giving Peeves advice.

He nodded and stretched lazily. "My contribution mostly consisted of looking the other way... although one or two of the Half-Blood Prince's favoured spells may have found their way into Weasley hands," he added innocently. He fixed her with a mock-stern glare. "I also interceded several times to prevent her discovering DA meetings. You were all absolutely terrible at being secretive; most of your teachers worked to cover your backs, or you would have been caught months before."

Hermione made a face at him. "What else were we supposed to do? We had to learn, and nobody official would teach us."

"That is the reason why we let you get away with it, and why Albus took the rap in the end." He sat up slowly and stretched again. "In the main we simply pretended not to know anything about what the students were doing and refused to punish anyone up to mischief as long as it inconvenienced her." He smiled slightly. "The fireworks were particularly amusing. I had a free period and spent it roaming around the secret passages casting Vanishing spells at every one I could find, before attaching a large Catherine wheel to her office door with a Permanent Sticking Charm."

She giggled. "I heard the way you spoke to her during your review; I was always surprised she didn't try to get rid of you."

He looked rather sour. "I couldn't afford to lose my job; if I had been removed from Hogwarts, I would no longer have been of use to the Dark Lord and my life would have been measured in weeks at best. I had to appear to co-operate with her, although that did not significantly alter my personality when dealing with her. And my House were all disgracing themselves becoming her little pet lapdogs," he added in a disgusted tone of voice.

"Good point," she agreed. This promised to be a very interesting conversation, but Crookshanks chose that moment to interrupt with a plaintive – and loud – reminder that it was his breakfast time, and she surrendered and got up. "You really won't remove the pink?"

"I really won't."

"Bastard."

"Indeed. See you at breakfast."

* * *

The music refused to go away, love songs playing quietly right on the edge of hearing. Hermione decided later that she must have been half asleep all day; it took several hours of listening to Michael Bolton, Elvis Presley, Stevie Wonder, The Carpenters and others before she finally worked out that Minerva didn't know anything about Muggle music and was therefore highly unlikely to be behind it. It took even longer for her to realise that the songs playing were among her favourites, aside from one or two that she knew Severus liked, and that the music hadn't been playing when she woke up but had in fact only started when Severus had removed the pink from the dungeons. Once she finally realised, she felt rather stupid for not noticing earlier.

She had no idea why Severus had decided to do this. He had never acknowledged Valentine's Day in any way and had made no secret of the fact that he thought it even more tacky and irritating than she did, so this gesture was surprising to say the least and was also rather out of character. Once she was paying attention, she thought about it on and off throughout the day and eventually realised that he was simply trying to cheer her up, obviously having spotted that she still wasn't over what Ron had said at Christmas despite his inept apology.

After dinner she went looking for him and found him in his office doing paperwork. He obviously knew she was there, but he didn't look up, apparently concentrating very hard on the essay he was marking; that in itself was a giveaway. Standing in the doorway and looking at him, Hermione shook her head and put her hands on her hips, trying very hard not to grin; he really could be very sweet sometimes. "Severus Snape," she told him archly, "you are a soppy, romantic, sentimental old fool."

He still didn't look up, but he actually blushed, the first time she had ever known him to do so.

It was one of the most adorable things she had ever seen.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds extremely unlikely," he responded loftily, tilting his head to let his hair fall over his face and trying to hide the fact that he'd turned red. The music had stopped rather abruptly, she observed.

"You're usually a better liar," she noted, shaking her head and smiling before crossing over to him, sliding a hand under his chin and lifting his face so she could lean down and kiss him gently. "You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"Go away. I'm busy."

Laughing outright now, she deliberately ruffled his hair before taking pity on him. "All right, I'll leave you alone. Daft man. Don't sulk – this was a nice thing to do, and I thank you."

"I said, go away."

"I'm going, I'm going."

* * *

Hermione was somewhat bewildered to be woken very early one morning in March by Minerva's Patronus, summoning her to the staff room for an emergency staff meeting. There was no sign of Severus as she hastily pulled on her clothes, but presumably the summons had also reached him wherever he was at the moment; he had probably gone outside for a cigarette.

As the sleepy and puzzled teachers gathered in various states of attire, Minerva entered the room looking tired and strained. "Are we all here?"

"Filius isn't, nor are Poppy and Severus."

The Headmistress nodded distractedly. "They won't be coming." She took a deep breath as the staff exchanged confused looks. "I am sorry to have to tell you all that Filius had a heart attack about two hours ago." Raising a hand to halt the cries of shock, she kept talking quickly, her accent thickening a little. "He is alive, and stable, in the Hospital Wing. Poppy is with him. The attack was not as serious as it might have been, and ordinarily there would be no problems with his recovery... but... Filius has goblin blood in his ancestry, and the usual potions will not work on him. I have been in contact with St Mungo's; there is a treatment available, but it is rare and complex and they have no-one with the skill to brew it."

Still numb with the shock of hearing what had happened, Hermione broke the silence that followed. "Severus."

Minerva nodded. "Yes. St Mungo's sent the formula to us about half an hour ago, along with the few ingredients we didn't have, and Severus is working on it as we speak. He says he _thinks _he can do it, but he isn't willing to guarantee anything; he also says it will take some time, potentially up to one week. _If _Filius grows no worse during that time, and _if _Severus is successful, and _if _this potion works – it has very seldom been used, with mixed results – then all will be well."

She fell silent for a while, allowing them to absorb this grim news. Professor Flitwick was the longest-serving staff member, having taught for longer even than Minerva herself; the little Charms teacher was a Hogwarts institution. Finally Minerva spoke again. "I will announce it to the students at breakfast this morning; there is no way of keeping it quiet. This leaves us with two teachers absent... Hermione."

Startled, she looked up. "Yes?"

The Headmistress sighed and grimaced. "Severus insists you are the only staff member competent enough to oversee Potions; he also wishes you to act as de facto Head of Slytherin once more. It is a lot of work..."

Hermione nodded; she should have expected it, really, but she wasn't thinking clearly yet. "I'll do it. I can give my own classes reading assignments for a few days; they shouldn't need supervising continually, just someone to look in and make sure they're not wreaking havoc."

Minerva nodded. "Very well. We shall all have to cover Charms lessons as and when we can until Filius recovers, and I shall have to do without my Deputy Headmaster for a short time. Aurora, will you act for the Ravenclaws for a while?"

"Of course," the Astronomy teacher assured her.

"Very well, then." Minerva sighed. "All we can do now is hope."

* * *

Three days later, Hermione encountered Minerva in the corridors one afternoon as she wearily headed back to her rooms. "Good afternoon, Headmistress."

"Good afternoon, Hermione." The older woman smiled at her. "How are you coping, being Severus?"

She laughed ruefully. "I don't know how he manages it; I'm exhausted. But there haven't been any problems; all the students like Filius, and the Slytherins know me a little. They're all on their best behaviour, although I'm sure that won't last."

"Well, I'm pleased to hear it, anyway. I was actually on my way to see how our Potions Master is getting on, if you wish to join me? You're more likely to understand what he's doing than I am."

Hermione didn't think it was such a good idea, personally. She had seen neither hide nor hair of Severus since the heart attack and as far as she knew he hadn't left his lab; he was clearly working very hard and would emphatically not want to be disturbed. But curiosity – and concern; she knew that when he was that focused on something, he forgot to look after himself – triumphed over caution, and she agreed to accompany the Headmistress down to the dungeons.

Fortunately, none of her possessions were on show in Severus' quarters; she had had the foresight to tidy up when she collected his lesson plans and retrieved Crookshanks. She did notice ginger fur here and there, but luckily not enough for Minerva to notice as they headed through his rooms to the lab; she missed these rooms, for some reason. The dungeons had started to feel like home.

Minerva knocked on the door to the lab. "Severus?" she called. "Hermione and I have come to see how you're getting on. Is this a good time?"

There was a lengthy pause before he replied flatly and indistinctly, "No." Minerva looked a little nonplussed at this answer, but before she could say anything else the door clicked and swung open as Severus grudgingly let them in, and Hermione beheld the Master at work.

It was frankly an awe-inspiring sight.

The lab was stiflingly, oppressively hot and the air was hazy with steam; Severus had removed his robes and his frock coat and had rolled his shirt sleeves up, and his shirt was damp with the sweat that trickled down his face. He had tied his hair back out of his face and by the look of him was in desperate need of a wash, a shave and some sleep, although he seemed not to have noticed this. He didn't look around as they entered, his brows deeply furrowed and his weary features set in a look of extreme concentration.

There was no music playing; the only sounds – apart from the crackling fires and the bubbling hiss of at least three cauldrons – came from a steadily ticking metronome on a shelf above his workbench. He was stirring one of the three cauldrons with his left hand, keeping a careful rhythm to the ticking of the metronome, while he measured a thick liquid into a crucible with his right hand and simultaneously wandlessly and non-verbally Summoned a jar of powder to the bench beside him. As they watched, spellbound, the metronome's steady ticking altered to a different rhythm and he immediately changed the rhythm of his stirring to match it, putting the beaker of liquid in his other hand down and adjusting the temperature of the flames beneath the cauldron.

Hermione stared in fascinated admiration as he started adding powder from the jar to the liquid in the crucible, turning his head to mop sweat from his face onto the shoulder of his shirt; the rhythm of his left hand never faltered. This was extreme multitasking, and she started to gain a new understanding of what separated a true Master from a mere expert, as she gazed at the intensity in his face.

Minerva was staring too; you didn't need any familiarity with Potions to know that you were in the presence of something extraordinary. Finally she found her voice, a little faintly. "How goes it, Severus?"

"As well as can be expected," he responded distantly after a pause, all his attention on his work. "There have been no serious problems yet, but the hardest part is still to come."

"It gets harder than this?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

He jerked his head towards a sheet of parchment pinned to the wall nearby. "See for yourself."

The two witches bent over the parchment and examined what had to be the most complicated Potions formula that Hermione had ever seen. Short of evolving a few extra arms, she couldn't see how any one man – even Severus – could manage it alone. So many processes had to be managed simultaneously, and with such precision... She was getting muddled just reading it, and would never have dared attempt to brew it, especially when so much was riding on the outcome. The amount of work involved...

She took another look at Severus as a suspicion occurred to her, studying his face more closely. Sunken and shadowed as his dark eyes were, they were too bright, and when she moved closer to replace the parchment she could smell stimulants on his breath as he licked sweat from his upper lip. "Have you slept at all?"

"No." The flat and uncharacteristically direct answer was its own confirmation.

Minerva looked alarmed at the exchange. "Severus, you are the only one capable of doing this. If you collapse, Filius dies."

"I know," he snapped impatiently, still not turning around to acknowledge them – he was now stirring two separate cauldrons with entirely separate rhythms, both of which changed every few stirs, with only the metronome to help guide him. "I know what I am doing. I can sleep for an hour or two when this stage is completed. And if necessary I can do without sleep for longer than this will take. I have done this sort of thing many times before." He was matching the pattern of his speech to what he was doing, even that helping him to keep time.

_That doesn't mean you should, Severus. _Had they been alone, Hermione would have been more harsh and insisted that he take more care of himself – but then again, had they been alone she wouldn't have interrupted him. "Can't someone help you?" she asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

"No. There are no basic steps to this. Even merely preparing the ingredients must be done in a certain way; you don't have the training and I don't have time to teach you."

"Can you do this?" Minerva asked bluntly. For all that Severus had deliberately refused to guarantee anything, the Headmistress had clearly assumed that it was just a matter of time; she obviously hadn't realised just how complex this potion would be.

"I do not know," he replied equally bluntly. "Ask me when it's done." Putting one stirring rod down, he pulled a chopping board towards him and began carefully slicing some kind of spiny, tough and disgusting-looking plant stalks using only one hand. "But as you so astutely noted, if I cannot, then Filius Flitwick dies. So you had better hope that I can." Sparks eddied from the cauldron that he was still stirring, landing on his hand and arm; his mouth and eyes tightened fractionally, but otherwise he didn't react even as the skin reddened. "And now I must insist that you leave; I need to concentrate."

With no other choice, they retreated and left him to it.

Their next attempt to check on him was even less successful. Severus refused to let them in, and when Minerva tried to open the door to the lab anyway, her hand was burned by his wards as he treated them both to a blistering tirade that was (perhaps fortunately) mostly incomprehensible through the door. Hermione was pretty sure that she'd heard him swearing in what sounded like it might have been medieval German, or perhaps Russian; admittedly she couldn't understand anything he'd said, but from his tone it was pretty obvious that he was swearing at some length. During the parts that were understandable he informed them that the potion was at a very difficult stage and that the slightest change in atmosphere, pressure or temperature would quite literally cause the whole thing to blow up in his face; he knew what he was doing, he was working as fast as he could, it would be completed when it was completed and in the meantime would they kindly _leave him alone. _

They listened.

Hermione continued to worry about him in her spare time, but she was very busy. Potions alone was a full-time job; she gained a new understanding of Severus' temper as students continued to make basic errors over and over again. She also had her own Muggle Studies essays to mark, in addition to attempting to mimic Severus' critical standards on his classes' homework. The Slytherin prefects told her at the end of one of their Potions lessons that they were policing their House and would only trouble her in an emergency; she gratefully awarded them twenty points apiece just for giving her one less thing to worry about, and couldn't help but smile at the tacit approval of her that this indicated.

Flitwick did not improve; but nor did he deteriorate further. Madam Pomfrey had placed him in an induced coma to preserve his strength as much as possible; it all depended on Severus now.

* * *

_Well now..._ _  
_


	40. Chapter 40

_Onwards and upwards...__  
_

* * *

**"****Hope dangles on a string  
Like slow spinning redemption  
Winding in and winding out  
The shine of it has caught my eye**.**"**  
– Dashboard Confessional, 'Vindicated'.

* * *

Six days after the heart attack, Madam Pomfrey burst into the staff room one evening, smiling broadly. "Severus delivered the completed potion to me an hour ago," she announced. "I have administered the first dose and Filius has responded favourably; the next two days will be critical, but he is out of immediate danger." The staff room erupted with cheers.

The nurse was beaming as she held up her hands for silence. "Yes, it's wonderful. But things will not return to normal yet. Severus won't be fit to teach for days – I've seen livelier corpses; the man was practically catatonic. If he even wakes up within the next twenty four hours, I'll be amazed. And Filius will need to take things easy for a while yet, at least the rest of the term – Minerva, he wishes to speak with you as soon as I think he is well enough, which I expect will be next week. There are going to have to be a lot of changes made, because his health has suffered considerably and his recovery is going to be very slow, but for the moment he is out of danger."

Under cover of several excited discussions, Hermione managed to corner the mediwitch. "How is he?"

"Why do I suspect that you aren't asking about Filius?" the older woman asked with a smile. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Hermione. I know you were just as worried about him as the rest of us. To answer your question, though, Severus is fine, as far as I could tell."

"He could convince you he was fine if he'd just been in the middle of an explosion," she muttered.

"True, but I'm being serious – he's fine. Unbelievably exhausted, naturally, and completely worn out – so leave him alone for a while, miss; he needs to rest – but fine. He could barely speak, he was so tired," the nurse added with a smile. "It's not often I see him reduced to pointing and grunting. I doubt we'll see him for days yet, but once he's slept he'll be back to normal."

* * *

Hermione left the celebrations as soon as possible that night and went to check on Severus, despite Madam Pomfrey's managing to inform her that he was all right. She stood in his bedroom doorway and smiled fondly at him; he was absolutely comatose, so deeply asleep that she doubted anything short of a localised thunderstorm centred directly over his head could wake him. He had evidently just crawled onto the bed and passed out after returning from the Infirmary; it wasn't exactly an attractive sight.

He desperately needed a shave; a week's patchy growth of beard emphatically did _not _suit him. His hair was frankly disgusting; it was worse than she had seen it at any time since the war. His skin was grimy and his clothes were filthy; thanks to all the stimulants passing out of his system, the sweat patches on his shirt had dried to leave yellowish stains. He was also snoring, in a laboured sort of way, as if he was too tired to even breathe properly, saliva flecking his lips.

She still thought he was beautiful, and despite the fact that he undoubtedly smelled bad by this point, Crookshanks had moved back in and was curled up beside him, purring. Resisting the urge to go over and either kiss him or ruffle his hair – he badly needed sleep, and she didn't want to risk waking him – she left them alone and went down to the lab to see if there was anything she could do there to help.

Unsurprisingly, it was spotless, with no sign of the unbelievable amount of work that had been done down there, and she shook her head ruefully. He hadn't taken the time to eat, or shower, but he had cleaned the lab from top to bottom before letting himself sleep; by hand, since he sensibly kept the use of magic to an absolute minimum in an area potentially filled with volatile ingredients and sensitive equipment. Severus was a true professional – and a stubborn idiot. Smiling wryly to herself, she left the dungeons, her sleeping lover and her disloyal familiar and returned to her own rooms.

* * *

It was a further two days before he finally surfaced, by which time Filius was awake and apparently well on the road to recovery. Severus was greeted unusually warmly by everyone when he walked into the staff room on Saturday morning in search of coffee, warmly enough that he looked taken aback and a little suspicious. He also still looked very tired, although his appearance had vastly improved from the last time Hermione had seen him. He said nothing in response to the greetings until he had made his coffee, strong enough and with enough sugar in it that the spoon practically stood up on its own, and sank into a chair. Offering an attempt at a sneer, he asked coolly, "I take it that our esteemed colleague is recuperating?"

"Minerva is visiting him now; she wants to give us all a progress report when she returns," Professor Sinistra replied. "Poppy says he is much improved and recovering nicely, thanks to you."

Severus gave her a flat look; he still disliked being thanked for anything, although Hermione had yet to work out why. Shrugging noncommittally, he returned his attention to his coffee. "I have known Filius Flitwick for almost four decades," he replied distantly. "After so long, I would mourn even an enemy." Hermione translated that to mean that he was pleased to have been able to help, and possibly slightly annoyed that it took something so dramatic for his colleagues to be more than barely civil to him, and shook her head, smiling at him.

He looked at her for the first time since his entrance and his eyes softened into the private almost-smile that he reserved exclusively for her. She always found that look hard to resist, and it had been a very long and lonely week without him; she found herself hopefully speculating just how tired he still was and smiled ruefully when he quirked one eyebrow at her and smirked a little in subtle but open invitation, evidently thinking along similar lines.

Sadly, business had to come first, but it proved extremely difficult to have a serious conversation about Potions grades in full view of most of the teaching staff when she wanted nothing more than to jump on him and snog him to within an inch of his life before dragging him off to the nearest bed – or wall, or desk, or the floor if necessary. Trying not to fidget in her seat, she continued discussing the progress of the third years, aware that he wasn't really listening any more than she was paying attention to what she was saying.

It was a relief when Minerva came back from visiting Flitwick; hopefully once she had given them an update, they could leave. The Headmistress made herself a cup of tea and settled into an armchair before looking up and smiling. "Filius is in much better spirits; Poppy says he is recovering nicely. Thank you, Severus." He grunted noncommittally in response, breaking eye contact with Hermione and returning his attention to his empty coffee mug as he shifted impatiently in his chair.

Minerva rolled her eyes at this lukewarm response, rather more tolerantly than she usually did, before turning more serious. "However... Filius and I have had a long discussion of the future." The listening staff sat up a little straighter and paid more attention; this sounded important. "He feels – as does Poppy, and I am forced to agree – that age is at last starting to catch up with him and that he cannot sustain his current workload."

"He's only doing three jobs at once," Severus muttered _sotto voce. _"Quitter." Hermione kicked him in the shin, earning herself a heated stare that promised something wonderful in the way of retribution later that made her shiver in delighted anticipation, before Minerva quelled them both with a stern look.

"He has asked me to hire someone to share the Charms and Head of House post, with a view to eventually becoming his successor, so that he need only teach part time. Does anyone have any suggestions for suitable candidates to contact?"

"Luna Lovegood," Hermione and Neville said simultaneously.

They grinned at one another before Neville waved at her to go ahead, and she continued, "She's a little... scattered... but she's brilliant at Charms and I think she'd love to come back to Hogwarts. As long as it doesn't interfere with the running of the _Quibbler, _anyway," she added as an afterthought, smiling.

Minerva smiled and inclined her head. "Miss Lovegood, then. If anyone has any other suggestions, please let me know." Her smile faded. "In the meantime... Filius has also said that he wishes to resign from the post of Deputy Headmaster." Everyone stared at her. The Headmistress sighed and said formally, "Severus, you are next in seniority... Do you wish to stand?" Her reluctance was clear, but her temper was surprisingly nowhere in evidence.

"What? No," Severus said after a moment, blinking and looking honestly startled by the question. His expression hardened. "Not only no, but hell no."

Minerva stared at him. "Really?"

"Really," he replied coldly. "One, I am not in fact technically next in seniority, having only been in employment here for two full years. Two, you know my views on the separation of House and school matters, and you will not find anyone else to replace me as Head of Slytherin – that is why you hired me in the first place, after all, and let us not insult one another by pretending otherwise." He paused and dropped the cold tone, sighing and rubbing his eyes, looking and sounding tired. "And three... Hell will freeze over before I serve as Headmaster again. Even if the rest of you caught the plague and dropped dead tomorrow, I would refuse. I will _not_ go through that again."

Silence followed his words. Eventually Minerva said quietly, in a surprisingly gentle tone, "I am... surprised."

He looked at her with an ironic, crooked smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Because of the dazzling success of my incumbency last time? Despite appearances, Minerva, I did not actually enjoy any of it. The circumstances are different now, but the memories remain." He inclined his head and said formally, "I respectfully decline."

"As you wish, Severus," the Headmistress replied quietly. She looked around. "I... will consider the matter and discuss it in more depth with Filius."

He frowned at her. "You both assumed I would accept? And you both thought that was a good idea?" He sounded surprised. Hermione looked around the staff room; both Flitwick and Minerva had been teaching when Severus had been Headmaster, as had several of the others, but nobody looked horrified at the prospect. She caught Neville's eye and he grinned at her, and after a moment she smiled a little shakily in return. _They don't hate him any more. _It was – almost – all she had wanted for him.

"Does anyone else object to being considered for the post?" Minerva asked, and was greeted with thoughtful silence and a few shakes of the head. Severus was looking a little off balance now, and broke eye contact to stare down into his coffee mug once more, discomfited.

Apparently taking pity on him, Minerva steered the conversation back to possible Ravenclaw graduates who might be suitable to share Filius' work, and by the time the impromptu staff meeting had ended she had half a dozen names to contact with regard to interviews. Severus had relaxed again by the end, even offering a few guarded comments of his own; he still looked slightly puzzled, but not in a negative way. Hermione also suspected that his thoughts, like hers, had returned to earlier, and that he was waiting for the meeting to end as impatiently as she was.

This suspicion was confirmed when they were finally allowed to leave. They didn't make it to the bedroom; they barely made it to the dungeons, and it was only with some effort that they stopped kissing one another in the corridor long enough to make it through the Potions classroom to his office and slam the door behind them. It really had been a very long week, Hermione reflected dizzily, tangling her fingers in his hair as he lifted her off the ground long enough to push her back onto his desk, neither of them breaking the kiss as they fumbled with one another's clothing breathlessly.

He started laughing when she tore his robe open, sending buttons flying, and cut off her indignant attempt at justification with a kiss that set her blood on fire. When he drew back, he was still laughing breathlessly as he stared down at her, his eyes warm and dark. "God, I've missed you," he told her, shaking his head, his lips twitching as he fought back a grin. "Crazy, infuriating, violent woman that you are."

"Severus?" she said sweetly. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Shut up."

That made him laugh again, but she put a stop to that by pulling him down on top of her and kissing him fiercely once more, wrenching at his clothes and pulling his shirt open, and he abandoned mockery in favour of returning her kiss every bit as hungrily as he pushed her top up and undid her bra, breaking the kiss to lower his mouth to her exposed breasts as she shoved his trousers down over his narrow hips and he tugged her jeans and knickers down. Both of them were frantic now, as though they had been separated for much longer than a week, and their lovemaking was furious and energetic and almost brutal as he thrust into her and they moved together desperately.

Sated at last, temporarily at least, she sprawled back on the desk as he collapsed on top of her, both of them panting and shivering in the aftermath. "Well," Hermione observed breathlessly after a pause, "that's better."

Chuckling hoarsely, he lifted his head enough to give her an amused look, his face flushed. "For the moment," he agreed, slowly pushing himself up on his arms and sliding awkwardly off the desk, stumbling and catching himself against the back of his chair as she sat up and began shakily rearranging her clothing.

Watching him Summoning the buttons that she had accidentally ripped from his robe, she stifled a laugh, still a bit out of breath. "Sorry about that."

"Liar," he replied with a soft snort, shaking his head reprovingly at her. "I trust you realise you're going to be mending this?"

"Like you mend all of my clothes that you rip, tear or otherwise mutilate, Slytherin?" she retorted, and he laughed softly as he did up his belt. "Did I see burns on your arms earlier?" she asked; it was all a bit of a blur now.

He shrugged, pushing his hair back from his face. "Minor ones. They're healing well. Cauldron sparks, that's all."

Vaguely presentable once more, she scooted forward and slid off the desk – which had mercifully been more or less clear, since she'd been doing most of his paperwork in her own office; God alone knew the mess they would have made otherwise. "That potion... Severus, I'd never seen anything like it. How did you manage it?"

Severus smiled tiredly at her. "Would you believe I'm not quite sure? I thought I'd blown it at one point. The whole thing nearly exploded; it could have taken quite a sizeable piece of the castle with it, and it certainly wouldn't have done me much good either." He breathed out slowly and stretched, rolling his shoulders. "It was definitely one of the most difficult things I've ever done. And I was severely out of practice; I haven't worked on anything that complex in decades."

"You're a genius," she told him sincerely, moving closer and sliding her arms around his waist. "You saved Filius' life, too."

"Not for the first time," he replied sardonically, sliding his arms around her in return and resting his cheek against her hair. "It was better received this time around."

"Well, if you will insist on being anonymously heroic all the time, you can't whine when people don't acknowledge it," she told him heartlessly with a soft smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Still, you did it, clever man."

"Indeed."

"And, of course," she said musingly, "this gets your sneaky secret plan to rearrange the hierarchy much further along, doesn't it?"

He stiffened, and she pulled back and looked at him in sudden horror as she realised what she had just said. "Oh, God, Severus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you had anything to do with it. I know you'd never do that, I just –"

"Hermione..."

"– I mean, I know you could have done, but I also know you wouldn't, and I know how hard you had to work to save him. I really am sorry, I don't know why I said that –"

"Hermione."

"– you know I sometimes speak without thinking, and I swear I didn't mean it the way it sounded, I don't want you to think that I see you like that –"

"Hermione."

"– I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking, I was just trying to – to find the good side of Filius being so ill, and I –"

"_Silencio!_"

She nearly choked as her throat closed, reflexively raising her hands to her mouth as the Silencing charm cut her off mid-babble. Severus was looking at her with an expression of complete exasperation as he lowered his wand. "Merlin, woman, don't you have to breathe?" he asked, shaking his head. "Had you let me get a word in, I was trying to tell you that it's all right." Staring at her for a long moment with a strange look in his eyes, he flicked his wand at her and she drew a ragged breath as the charm broke.

"It is?" she asked uncertainly.

He nodded slowly, looking almost as puzzled as she suddenly felt; he looked like he was mentally prodding at what she'd said as though it was a loose tooth, searching for the pain but not finding it. "Yes. I know you didn't mean it," he said slowly, sounding thoughtful.

Hermione stared at him. "Severus," she said at last, feeling as if the world had suddenly started spinning the other way, "what drugs did you take while you worked on Filius' potion?"

"Very funny," he responded sourly.

"I'm not joking." She moved closer and looked up at him. "Ever since I first knew you, you've always taken _everything _as a personal slur. I understand why, I know what happened in your life to make you see the world that way, but it's still true. Anyone implying that you would attempt to commit murder to make your job easier, let alone _me _being the one to say it... You should be screaming for blood, or horrifically upset. Don't get me wrong, I'm very glad you're not, but it's a bit – unusual."

Severus looked oddly amused, tilting his head and looking down at her. "I should be, shouldn't I?" he agreed.

"So why aren't you? Why do you believe me?"

"Because I love you, I suppose," he replied calmly, looking as though he considered this to be an answer. And it was, she conceded as she thought about it; you could not truly love someone unless you trusted them completely – especially if you were Severus, who was possibly the least trusting individual on the planet.

Feeling somewhat emotional in the face of this unexpected evidence of more old wounds having healed, she moved into the circle of his arms once more and rested her head against his chest, smiling even as she fought back tears. He had come so far... it seemed she had finally convinced him that he was a good man and that not everyone was against him, and that was as wonderful as it was unbelievable. "I love you, too, Severus."

"After all this, I should certainly hope so," he replied dryly, hugging her, and she drew back enough to grin at him.

"Don't get cocky, Slytherin," she told him, reaching up and drawing his head down for a kiss. Changing the subject before she really did start crying out of sheer happiness, she gently ran a finger along the shadows under his eyes. "You need some sleep. You need to be ready for Monday morning and the fun of telling all the children that their holiday is over and you're officially back to make their lives hell once more."

Playfully catching her finger between his lips as she ran it down his cheek, he smirked at her. "In order for me to make that point emphatically enough, I ought to still be tired out," he pointed out slyly.

Hermione gave him an impish grin. "I've not seen you in a week, and you've spent that week being rather heroic and clever and saving someone's life, which is incredibly sexy. Believe me, you will be."

He smiled slowly at her, his dark eyes sparkling. "I accept your challenge," he told her silkily, taking her hand and leading her out of the office.

* * *

It took another week for things to settle down and return to a semblance of normality. Severus did eventually manage to catch up on his sleep, although the process took rather longer than it really should have since he seemed to prefer other bedroom-related activities over merely sleeping, and Hermione and Neville were both granted permission to go to Luna and ask her if she was willing to become a teacher. Neither Gryffindor had ever seen their friend that emotional, not even in the aftermath of the Final Battle; as they had predicted, she accepted wholeheartedly on the condition that she could still run _The Quibbler_ in her free time. This was acceptable, and once the formalities were completed she would begin teaching after Easter.

The question of the next Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress was still in doubt; Minerva and Filius were both being ridiculously, almost childishly cryptic about who they were considering for the post, and were clearly enjoying the chance to annoy everyone by doing so. Severus swore blind that he knew nothing about it when Hermione asked; all he knew was that he himself was not in the running after he had declined publicly. After considering it, she reluctantly decided that she believed him – if he had been in on the secret he would have been smug and irritating about it.

At the end of March, Minerva and Filius entered the staff room wearing almost identical grins, and the Headmistress cleared her throat to draw their attention. "Have you both finally decided to grow up?" Severus inquired, glancing up from his marking to give his employer a scathing look.

"Have you?" Minerva retorted.

"You're thirty five years older than I am," he pointed out.

"Severus, it isn't polite to mention a lady's age," Hermione chided him. "Behave."

"I have never claimed to be polite."

"That's certainly true," the Headmistress said dryly. "However, I agree with Hermione. Behave."

He subsided with a smirk; clearly he was taking full advantage of no longer being utterly despised by his colleagues and intended to use it as an opportunity to simply be rude. Hermione made a mental note to ask him to behave himself later, but she strongly suspected that it would be a waste of breath, and if nothing else his sarcasm would liven up dull moments.

Minerva cleared her throat again, giving the Potions master a withering look, before scanning the room and smiling. "Filius and I have at last come to a decision, one which I know you have all been waiting for – some rather more patiently than others," she added pointedly. "We're sorry for the wait, but sorting out Miss Lovegood's new role proved more time-consuming than we thought, and we didn't want to rush such an important choice." She drew a deep breath. "Does anyone here object to potentially being chosen – aside from Severus, who has made his feelings clear?"

She was met with an expectant silence and a few head-shakes, and beamed around the room again. Hermione heard a faint rustle and looked up to see Albus, Phineas and Dilys standing in one of the frames on the wall; Albus was twinkling, Dilys was grinning broadly and Phineas looked coolly amused. Glancing around, she noticed Severus watching the three of them suspiciously before he suddenly raised his eyebrows and turned to stare intently at Minerva, leaning forward a little in his chair.

Drawing herself up, the Headmistress let her smile fade a little and said in quiet, formal tones, "Hermione Granger, do you wish to stand?"

Hermione gaped at her, missing the soft sounds of reaction from her colleagues or Severus' sudden hiss of indrawn breath. _What? _"...Me?" she eventually managed to squeak.

Several of the teachers laughed at her obvious shock. Minerva smiled kindly at her. "Yes, girl, you. Who better?"

"Hear, hear," Severus murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. His familiar deep voice steadied Hermione a little, as she turned to look into his black eyes; he raised one eyebrow and offered her a small smile before saying at a more normal volume, "Are you going to answer the question, Granger, or have we finally succeeded in shutting you up?"

The teasing note in his voice helped to push the shock a little further away, and Hermione half-laughed a little ruefully. "I'm afraid not, Severus; you'll have to try harder," she retorted, smiling back at him, before turning to face her Headmistress and trying to gather her scattered wits. "I would be honoured," she replied, pleased that her voice wasn't shaking too much.

"Splendid!" Filius declared, rubbing his hands together – the little wizard had recovered remarkably well from his illness, but was clearly frailer than he had been. He beamed. "I believe this calls for a celebration."

"Hear, hear," Severus repeated again, this time at a far more audible volume. "Congratulations, Hermione," he said seriously, smiling at her. There was a pause for everyone to stare at him incredulously before Minerva laughed.

"Well, if even Severus approves, I'm confident that we made the right choice." More laughter could be heard as the teachers all left their seats to crowd around and offer their congratulations; Hermione let herself grin and join in the mirth, although from the heat glittering in her lover's black eyes she was pretty sure he felt rather more than simple 'approval'.

"It appears I will have to wait my turn," he observed quietly, offering her a wry smile.

"I'm saving the best for last," she told him, before allowing Neville to yank her into a hug as the room erupted into a distinct party atmosphere.

* * *

That had been the start of a long and tiring weekend. Word had spread like wildfire among her friends, and Hermione found herself dragged forcibly away from Severus and out of Hogwarts by a very determined Harry and George and bullied into attending a full Weasley celebration – one which Severus laughingly refused to accompany her to; he had celebrated with her in private already, and was remarkably tolerant of Harry and George invading and kidnapping her. She barely had a chance to recover from that before her other Order friends descended on her the next day, and then she had to deal with a killer hangover and a twelve-page, very excited letter from her parents (Severus had written to tell them while the Weasleys had been getting her drunk, it turned out) before Minerva made the official announcement at breakfast on Monday morning.

To everyone's surprise – except presumably theirs – the applause began at the Slytherin table first, although it spread very rapidly throughout the rest of the Great Hall. The Slytherins were first to start getting to their feet, too, although they were evidently too dignified to start the cheering; that broke out from Gryffindor first. Blushing furiously at the standing ovation, Hermione found herself being unceremoniously prodded to her feet by a combined effort from Severus and Neville, and had to stand there in utter embarrassment as the school clapped, whistled and cheered.

"You know the Slytherins are only pleased because they're certain that you can manipulate me into favouring them," she told her lover in an undertone when she was finally allowed to sit and hide behind her breakfast.

Severus' eyes were warm and smiling as he gave her a proud look before returning his attention to his coffee; she was reasonably certain he had been behind at least one of the whistles. "Of course. They _are _Slytherins." He looked out over his House table, smiling very slightly and giving them a look of approval, before glancing sideways at her again. "They aren't stupid; they believe no such thing – although it doesn't stop them hoping," he added dryly. "They like you, Hermione. Why is that such a surprise?"

"I'm Muggleborn, and partly responsible for a lot of their older relatives being arrested or killed," she pointed out.

"They were only young children then. That doesn't matter to them. What does matter is that, since they have known you, you have never treated them any differently to any of the other students. You see children first and potential Death Eaters second, and that alone would earn you their fanatical support." He smiled wryly and took a bite of toast. "They are also bright enough to be well aware that you found them a much more effective Head of House than they were used to in Horace Slughorn and that you are largely responsible for the aforementioned Head of House's rather mellower temperament these days."

She snorted. "If you've mellowed, Severus Snape, then I'm a Hippogriff." Still, he was right; the Slytherins had all known for better than eighteen months that she and Severus were lovers despite never having been told or witnessing anything to support it, and she suspected that a number of the brighter children had worked it out before that. Their attitudes since then indicated that they approved of her, much to the amusement of Severus, who found it funny that they thought they had the right to approve or disapprove. "It's confused everyone else," she noted, glancing around the Hall.

It was his turn to snort mockingly. "We have hardly been subtle. I am constantly astounded at how utterly fictitious and illogical rumours can seemingly spread faster than the speed of light, and yet the truth can be staring people in the face and they remain oblivious. If we still disliked one another to the point of hatred as we did when you were a student, gossip would no doubt have us at it like rabbits."

"That's humanity for you," she agreed, laughing softly as she remembered the patient months of dropping increasingly pointed hints while she waited for her friends to use their brains and add two and two together. "Answer me honestly, Severus – did you know beforehand?"

He shook his head. "No. I guessed just before Minerva said it, when I saw the portraits. I certainly hoped it would be you, and I thought you had a better chance than anyone else on staff at the moment, but I didn't know for sure."

"What would you have done had it been someone else?"

"I don't know. I suppose it would depend on who it was, but I suspect I would have contrived to make their life hell – with the aid of my Slytherins – until they were forced to resign."

"If it had been me, I'd have said no, if that helps," Neville offered from Hermione's other side as he reached past her for the jug of pumpkin juice – neither she nor Severus liked it.

"If it had been you, Longbottom, I would have either resigned or had you assassinated," Severus replied dryly.

"Not done it yourself? Blimey, you really have mellowed," he shot back, earning faintly surprised looks from both of them. Hermione thought it was a very good sign that Neville was brave enough to tease his childhood nemesis now, and it was a better sign that Severus hadn't reacted badly but merely rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his breakfast.

* * *

_Staff Changes At Hogwarts_

_In the wake of Deputy Headmaster, Charms professor and Ravenclaw Head of House Filius Flitwick's heart attack last month, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has announced several changes to the faculty; Professor Flitwick's advancing years (he is now 122) and declining health mean that he can no longer sustain his current workload. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall (86) informed us this morning that she has hired Luna Lovegood (29) to share the position of Charms professor and, eventually, become Head of Ravenclaw House when Professor Flitwick retires; the new Deputy Headmistress is Muggle Studies professor and war veteran Hermione Jean Granger (31)._

_(The Daily Prophet, 2011)_

* * *

Luna arrived just before the holidays; the break would let her get settled in and give her a chance to familiarise herself with Filius' lesson plans as well as beginning to get to know some of the students. Hermione was overjoyed to see her friend and promptly abandoned an amused and resigned Severus to spend the day with her, showing her the changes to the castle and talking animatedly about just about everything.

"So I'm pretending to know nothing about you and Professor Snape still?" the Ravenclaw asked a couple of days into the break.

"Unbelievably, yes," Hermione responded with a sigh. "Would you believe people _still _haven't realised?"

"Well, it's quite obvious if you know what to look for," Luna replied thoughtfully, "but I don't think anything shows when you interact with him in public."

"No, I know that – neither of us are really demonstrative. But honestly, Luna – I've told them all enough about this 'mystery man' that the answer is staring them in the face, even without him snickering and making sly comments every time the subject comes up, which he started a few weeks ago. How many half-blood Slytherins are there, anyway? I shouldn't think there have ever been many, and I can only think of two that everyone knows about, one of whom is dead and was never going to be an option anyway. Given that I've also told them his age and something of his personality, as well as all the hints about how I see him more often than anyone would expect... I don't know what else to say."

"How did Neville find out?"

"Oh, I was talking to him about Severus, and something in my face must have given me away. I've actually never asked him – I was too busy trying to stop him freaking out."

Luna grinned. "Fair enough. And you said Madam Pomfrey – oops, Poppy; I'm never going to get used to that – knew as well?"

"Suspected, more than knew," Hermione corrected her, smiling. "And only because she knows Severus better than most people; she spotted that he actually looks happy – well, happy for him, anyway – and eventually worked out why. None of the others really know him well enough to spot anything, but... well, I can't make it much more obvious."

"What about the students? I remember what the gossip mill is like here."

"Surprisingly, they don't seem to have guessed either. I've not even heard any rumours pairing me with Neville, which would make sense given that we're the same age. The Slytherins know, because whenever Severus is absent or busy he tells them to go to me if they need help and he told them a long time ago that I'm the only member of staff they can trust as much as they do him. The others don't seem to have twigged, which is definitely a good thing."

"True; it might cause a few problems for them to find out." Luna shrugged. "Can't you just tell the others?"

"I could," Hermione conceded reluctantly, "but that hasn't turned out terribly well so far. And I really shouldn't have to; they're all intelligent people. I know our relationship is unconventional, but it's really not all _that _unlikely, jokes aside – is it?"

Luna shook her head, smiling. "No, not to anyone who knows either of you – remember, I guessed something would happen between you eventually. Although I didn't expect something so permanent, I admit. You really are quite similar in a lot of ways. I think the problem is that everyone assumes that Professor Snape –"

"Severus."

"– Oops, yes, sorry – _Severus _could never allow himself to be involved with anyone, especially if they knew about Harry's mum."

"No," Hermione replied tiredly, "the problem is that everyone assumes that nobody would want him. He spent too long being the Greasy Git and now they can't see him as anything else; except a murdering Death Eater, anyway, although they're finally starting to get over that."

"Well, I'm sure they'll work it out eventually, unless you give in and tell them. In the meantime, I won't say anything, except to you or Neville," Luna promised.

* * *

The Easter holidays had passed blessedly without incident, but the summer term – so far only three weeks long, but they had been the longest three weeks of Hermione's life – was proving to be complete and utter chaos. There was a lot to learn about her new duties, and she was still teaching. As such, she did not appreciate being woken at an ungodly hour of the morning by a deep-voiced silver lynx informing her in Kingsley Shacklebolt's bass tones that, "_All members of the Order of the Phoenix and their kin are requested to attend Hogwarts on the evening of the second of July, rather than the Ministry. _All _members. Thank you._"

The lynx Patronus faded from view, and Hermione pushed herself up on one elbow, staring blankly into a pair of sleepy black eyes. "What was that about?" she mumbled.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Severus responded drowsily, rolling onto his back and rubbing his face with both hands in an effort to wake himself up. "I suspect we're playing 'Two Fingers to the Ministry' and shunning the usual memorial in favour of our own service; although why Kingsley felt it necessary to inform us at... God, five in the bloody morning... is beyond me," he added grumpily.

"I assume Minerva already knows, if we're doing it here..."

"Floo her and ask her – Deputy Headmistress."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Aren't you bored of that yet?"

"Evidently not," he replied dryly.

Doing her best to ignore him – he had developed an almost perverse sense of humour regarding her promotion that threatened to become almost a fetish if he didn't stop it soon – she reluctantly left the warmth of their bed long enough to dump a handful of Floo powder into the fire that Severus had obligingly just lit. She felt no qualms about rousing the Headmistress so early; presumably Kingsley had sent his Patronus to all the Order members, rather than singling her or Severus out at five a.m. "Minerva, what is Kingsley up to?"

"Not just him, Hermione. He's teamed up with Harry and Albus' portrait and they've been planning this for months. Largely, I must admit, due to what Severus said before – although I have no intention of telling him so. The man is utterly insufferable as it is."

Hermione gave her lover an amused look; he had folded his arms behind his head and was smirking at her with an extremely smug gleam in his eyes. "That is very true," she agreed dryly. "It was a good idea, though. So we're telling the Ministry to shove off and let us have our own party?"

"Yes, but I think there's going to be rather more to it than that. Kingsley was adamant that everyone absolutely _must _be there. Those three are definitely planning something, but I'm sure you know how utterly impossible it is to get anything out of Albus when he's being secretive."

"Hm. Maybe I can wheedle something out of Harry. But why did they have to tell everyone this early?"

"I really have no idea," Minerva replied wearily. "I will be sending him a Howler later, I assure you. I'm too old for this time of the morning."

Hermione laughed softly. "So am I, and I'm better than half a century younger. Thank you, Minerva." As the flames died down, she added, "Stop looking so smug, Slytherin," before turning to give him a wasted look of reproach. He blinked innocently at her, his eyes dancing with humour. "We don't have any plans for July 2nd, do we?"

"Well I, personally, will be sitting in the caravan with your cat and watching rubbish telly all night. You are welcome to do whatever you wish, of course."

"You heard Kingsley – _all _Order members are required to be there."

"I couldn't care less," he replied calmly as she walked over to the bed and stood looking down at him disapprovingly. She should have known better; not only was he completely immune to her disapproving look, he found it quite alluring if he was in the right mood. His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist as he half-sat up; she had time to note that he was evidently properly awake now, judging by the sheet now tented over his obvious erection, before he deftly yanked her off balance and pulled her down on top of him. "As we're up now anyway..." he purred, rolling over and pinning her to the bed before leaning down to kiss her.

* * *

"Harry James Potter, what are you planning?"

"I'm not going to tell you, 'Mione. I've not even told Ginny. Just make sure you and Snape are both there, okay?"

"He won't come."

"He has to. It's really, really important that we're _all _there."

"He's said no."

"Then persuade him."

"I think you're overestimating my powers of persuasion, Harry. Nothing on this earth will move Severus when he absolutely refuses something. Not even me."

"Then order him. You're his boss now, right?"

"...Yes, because that's absolutely how it works. He'll laugh himself sick, then get angry if I keep pushing."

"Well, I dunno what to suggest, 'Mione, but make sure you're both there on the night."

"Harry... Harry, are you still there? You bastard, you've closed the Floo on me. Bugger."

* * *

_There are probably only three or four chapters left, I'm sorry to say._ _  
_


	41. Chapter 41

_Just realised, I've never mentioned it but Kingsley is NOT Minister in any of my stories. The Ministry make far too good minor villains for me to spoil that by putting a sensible Order member in charge of them.__  
_

* * *

**"Different things can add up in different ways whilst reaching an identical solution, just as 'eleven plus two' forms an anagram of 'twelve plus one'**.**"**  
– Margot Gleave.

* * *

Hermione waited several days before she raised the subject again; frustrating days spent trying to persuade Albus bloody Dumbledore's portrait to stop twinkling infuriatingly at her and just answer a question for once in his existence. Needless to say, she hadn't been successful. She was well aware that the topic would annoy Severus, so she tried to time it to ensure that he would be in a good mood – i.e. after sex, when he was relaxed and half asleep. "Severus?"

"Hmm?" he asked vaguely, stretching.

"I wanted to talk to you about July."

"It's a month; the seventh month of the year. Named after Julius Caesar, I believe. The birthstone is a ruby..."

"Ha, ha. You know, you're nowhere near as funny as you think you are. And you also know exactly what I meant."

"Yes."

"Well?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Severus."

"No, Hermione." His voice had lost the pleasant sleepy edge and was noticeably cooler. "I'm not going."

She sighed and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. "Why won't you go?"

"Because I grew tired of listening to the same old insults many years ago and because I do not like constantly being hated by everyone else in the room. I've not seen most of the Order since the night I murdered Albus; that makes small talk a little difficult. And I have no wish to sit around listening to Potter rambling on about how clever we all were, as if there's something noble about anything we did." His expression had shut down, his dark eyes showing only the emotionless look she so disliked, touched with a hint of something forbiddingly cold that was quite definitely a warning.

"I don't think that's what they have planned," she said thoughtfully. "If that was all he wanted, we could all go and listen to the Minister praising himself."

He shrugged and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I'd like you to be there."

No response.

"Severus, please," she said quietly. "I've never asked you for anything. Admittedly that's mostly because you tend to suggest things before I even think of asking, but you know what I mean. I really want you to be there with me. You deserve to be there. Please, love – for me?"

Slowly he turned his head to look at her, and the rage in his eyes startled her. "_Don't,_" he hissed.

"Don't what?" she asked, bewildered by his sudden change of mood and by the anger that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Moving stiffly, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed, getting up and gathering his clothing together. He got dressed without speaking again, in total silence, his body language stiff and angry, and she had absolutely no idea what she had done to upset him until he was about to leave the room. He paused with his hand on the doorknob; without turning to look at her, he spoke, his voice low and rough.

"I will _not_ be manipulated in that way again. Not by you, not by anyone."

Leaving, he shut the door quietly behind him, and she stared at the wood in dismay as his footsteps receded. That honestly hadn't been what she meant, but looking back, she could understand why he felt that she was trying to guilt him into it. Certainly he had every right to resent it, after so many years of having his every emotion ruthlessly used against him by just about everyone, but that really hadn't been her intention at all.

"...Well, fuck."

* * *

She hadn't slept that night; instead she had curled up with Crookshanks and watched the Marauder's Map as the little dot prowled the castle restlessly, trying to come up with a way out of this. Going after him wouldn't do any good until he had calmed down a little; while he was still angry, he wouldn't believe that she really had just been asking. The next day was insanely busy anyway; she missed breakfast, they both missed lunch, and he wasn't there at dinner either. She heard on the grapevine that he had been in a vicious temper all day, which emphatically did not bode well, but she didn't get a chance to see him.

It was getting late now, but she was still in her office, finishing the last of her paperwork and debating with herself about what to do now. If he was still angry with her, going down to the dungeons was probably a bad idea, but those rooms were her quarters now in all but name. His bed was where she slept; if she stayed away now it would no doubt give him the wrong impression and make the whole mess worse. At the same time, she was tired and irritable and she knew he wouldn't be any better off, and they were as likely to kill one another as they were to kiss and make up.

In the end, the question proved to be academic when she fell asleep at her desk.

Hermione woke up, her head feeling fuzzy, and felt utterly confused for a moment until she realised that she was being carried along in a pair of strong arms. She had a memory of working at her desk, feeling tired and upset and frustrated, and concluded that she must have fallen asleep over her work – hardly unusual for her, she had to admit. As her senses woke up, she became aware of a familiar scent that instantly melted most of the lingering tension in her shoulders, and she suppressed a smile when she heard his voice – he was muttering to himself about her stupidity and her stubbornness in quite colourful terms.

Under the circumstances, she judged it was probably a good idea to pretend to still be asleep; they could talk tomorrow when they were both better rested and had more time. Severus carried her to their rooms, scolding her under his breath the entire time, before laying her very gently on the bed and removing most of their clothing, pulling the covers over her before crawling in next to her. With his arms around her and the warmth of his body beside her, she could forget their argument, and sank gratefully into dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she woke up, Hermione was momentarily dismayed to find herself alone in bed – that didn't happen often these days. After a pause she heard the distant sound of the pipes creaking and made herself relax; he was just in the bathroom, she told herself firmly. They had been together long enough that she knew how long Severus typically spent in the shower, almost to the second; it didn't take her long to realise that he was procrastinating – he only ever took that long if she happened to be sharing it with him – and she concluded that he evidently felt as uncomfortable as she did.

He certainly _looked _uncomfortable when he finally slunk back into the bedroom, avoiding her gaze as he quietly wished her 'good morning' and finished getting dressed. She supposed it was a good thing he didn't seem angry any more, but she really hated fighting with him and the only way to fix this was if he was able to overcome his reflexive way of always seeing the worst in everything long enough to let her apologise and explain.

"Severus..." she began in a small voice.

"I'm going to Diagon Alley today," he interrupted gruffly, still not looking at her as he did up his shirt. "Do you need anything?"

Hermione sighed and gave up. "No, thank you. Will you be long?"

"Probably." He hesitated, and when she looked up he was staring at the floor as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. "I need to be fitted for dress robes," he said finally, "and I do not know how long it will take."

She stared at him for a long moment, while he continued to stare fixedly at the floor. Unless she was very much mistaken, he had just told her that he would accompany her in July, since offhand she couldn't think of anything else he would possibly need formal robes for and she very much doubted he would buy them on a whim. She supposed this meant she'd won the fight, but it felt like a really hollow victory.

"Severus, I wasn't trying to force you to go. I would never do that to you."

"I know that... now. But yesterday, it sounded much the same as everyone else's prodding and tugging." His tone was apologetic, at least by his standards.

"I meant it when I said that you deserved to be there and that I'd like you there with me," she said gently, "but I don't want you to feel as though you have to."

He exhaled slowly, beginning to relax a little. "Merlin, woman, stop trying to talk me out of it now. It's taken me nearly two days to decide to go through with it as it is."

Sliding out of bed, she went to him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest as his arms wrapped around her in return. "I don't think I really deserve you, Severus. Thank you."

"It isn't _entirely _for you," he replied softly. "Part of me does want to go. I want to walk in with you on my arm and just feel like a normal man – and I admit to being curious about just what is so important. I simply do not want things to turn ugly and spoil the night."

"If it does, it does. I want to walk in on your arm, too. It's been long enough for people to get used to the truth about you, and we won't be alone in there, but if things turn bad, we'll leave. Okay?"

When she looked up at him, his eyes were smiling a little, although he still didn't look entirely happy. "Okay," he repeated solemnly.

* * *

Neither of them mentioned the subject again. There was more than enough work to keep them busy anyway; Hermione had never realised just how much the Deputy Head really did behind the scenes until now, and she had no idea how her predecessors had managed to juggle teaching full time and their duties as Head of House as well. She was so busy learning all her new responsibilities that it took her over a week to notice that Severus had been helping with her marking; evidently he could mimic her handwriting as well as she could his, although it was something of a surprise to find that he could be lenient in his criticism.

At one of the last staff meetings before the end of term, Minerva asked, "Hermione, what are your plans for the summer?"

"Nothing concrete; there's this Order thing here in July, and I'd quite like to see my parents if there's time, but I've no firm plans. Why?"

"If you wish, you may stay in the castle throughout the break. The Head and the Deputy Head can take up year-round residence," the Headmistress explained.

She smiled, understanding. "That's a nice offer – Hogwarts is a hell of a summer home – but I think I'll pass. I might come back early, but I want to have at least a bit of a holiday. There haven't been any complaints, surprisingly, but a certain wizard has hardly seen me recently and I think he's feeling a little neglected."

"Yes," Severus rumbled pointedly from behind his newspaper, "he is." This hint, as with several others he'd dropped recently, went completely unnoticed as Minerva gave him a look of rebuke for interfering without apparently realising what he'd said before turning back to Hermione. "Merlin, people are stupid," he muttered, going back to his reading with a somewhat sour expression.

Privately, Hermione agreed. Recently – since he had openly congratulated her on her promotion – they had been trying to prod their colleagues into opening their eyes and realising what was staring them in the face; it had been his idea, but she'd agreed without their needing to discuss it, especially following her discussion with Luna. They could only sneak around for so long and life would be easier if the other teachers knew about the two of them, but she was starting to think that she'd have to jump on him and snog him in the middle of a staff meeting before they got the message across, or just let someone walk in and catch them in a compromising position. Worryingly, neither idea was all that unappealing, which she blamed him for entirely; he had obviously been a very bad influence on her.

"Surely he hardly sees you anyway? I don't mean to be harsh, but it can't be easy conducting a long-distance relationship from a residential job," the Headmistress said thoughtfully. Neville nodded somewhat ruefully, having experienced that for himself in the past.

"It's not really a long-distance relationship," Hermione replied a little wearily; the amusement had long since worn off and everyone's constant refusal to see what was right in front of them was just boring now. Denial was one thing, but it was getting downright insulting. "But I've had no time for him recently and it's not fair on him, so I want to have something of a holiday with him before we both come back to work."

"Not everyone's stupid, you know," Neville murmured from one of the desks at the far side of the room – like many of the newer teachers, including Hermione herself, he had yet to master the art of marking essays balanced on his knees.

"God help us all, there are people slower on the uptake than Neville Longbottom," Severus responded tartly. "It boggles the mind."

"What on earth are the pair of you on about?" Minerva asked impatiently.

"If I painted it on the wall, do you think people might get the message?" Severus asked rhetorically of nobody in particular, glancing over the top of the newspaper towards Hermione with an almost unreadable expression that held a hint of a question.

"Doubtful," Neville responded as Hermione narrowed her eyes at her lover; he was silently asking her if they should stop hinting and just admit it. She considered the idea thoughtfully, mentally shrugging; _might as well. _Besides, whatever Severus had in mind would probably be quite funny, and everyone else's reactions should certainly be interesting. Turning, she glanced around the room – yes, most of the staff members were present, including Poppy Pomfrey who was now sporting a surprisingly evil smile of anticipation, and Luna who was looking far less dreamy and vague than usual.

"Painted _what _on the wall?" Minerva asked, sounding totally exasperated. "You and Hermione have both been playing 'I've-got-a-secret' for weeks and it's getting very tiresome, Severus. Either spit it out or shut up." Given the manner in which the Headmistress and Filius had gleefully danced around for weeks before revealing their choice for the new Deputy Head, she was being more than a little hypocritical.

Hermione looked back at him, shrugged slightly and nodded. "Go ahead." His black eyes immediately started to glitter almost mischievously; clearly, he had a plan.

"Let's have a surprise test," he drawled in his best Professor Snape manner, standing up and slowly beginning to pace back and forth with his hands clasped behind him, the way he did when he was lecturing. Neville, Hermione and Luna all exchanged delighted looks; when he was in teacher mode he was utterly spellbinding, at least until he turned nasty and reduced a luckless student to the edge of hysterical tears.

"What is this about?"

"The identity of my 'mystery man'," Hermione said in her weariest voice, "which is something that you should all have guessed at least a year ago. Humour him."

"First question," Severus drawled, with the faint edge of impatience that warned any class to settle down quickly and pay attention. "How many half-blood Slytherins can you name?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

There was a pause while most of the teachers looked at one another with varying degrees of confusion; Filius Flitwick just about managed to salvage his House's reputation for intelligence when the elderly wizard's eyes slowly widened as he got it before his colleagues. "Oh," he squeaked, swallowing hard.

"Try not to have another heart attack," Severus told him nastily. "I'm not going through that again. If you've all fixed the rather short list of names in your minds, let's move on to question two; how many of those half-blood Slytherins are currently in their early fifties?"

The light had finally dawned, it seemed. Looking around the staff room, Hermione frowned, taking exception to some of the horrified expressions. The glitter in Severus' dark eyes had gone from mischievous to annoyed, and clearly he found it to be as insulting as she did.

"Third question," he said softly, his voice now gaining the velvet purr that all his students could recognise as a danger signal. "How many of those half-blood Slytherins are still alive? Much to many people's secret disappointment, I am sure," he added, his voice cool.

Minerva had turned a rather unhealthy shade and now opened her mouth to say something; Severus whirled around in a very familiar manner that his three previous students all recognised, his robe flaring and billowing dramatically around him and his eyes hard and glittering like obsidian, and the Headmistress faltered in the face of his anger.

"That still scares the shit out of me," Neville confided in a whisper, shivering and smiling a little, "and he's not even looking at me."

"...Me, too, a little," Luna admitted, smiling back at him.

Hermione smiled rather ruefully; she found it unbelievably erotic, actually, which was mildly disturbing on several levels. "Ssh, both of you."

"What, are we interrupting your drooling?" Neville asked impishly, and made a show of shutting up when she glared at him.

"Fourth question," Severus continued, his voice at the perfect pitch to cut across their whispers and the others that had sprung up across the staff room. "If you are all truly this unbelievably moronic, how do you expect your students to learn anything whatsoever from you?" He looked every inch the seriously irritated teacher now, stern and unforgiving as the strength and force of his personality dominated the room, and Hermione had to admit that a small part of her _was _drooling. Only a small part of her, though, since the rest of her was preoccupied in watching her colleagues' faces and trying to guess just how bad the explosion was going to be.

"...You?" Minerva finally managed to get out. She couldn't have looked more stunned had the answer been Voldemort after all.

Severus sneered at her, and then apparently on general principles favoured the rest of the room with another sneer. "The Knut has finally dropped, I see," he replied in a voice that dripped withering scorn.

"Hermione, is this true?" the Headmistress asked, sounding genuinely shaken. "Or is this a joke?" she added.

The hopeful tone in her voice was the last straw. Fighting to keep her temper, Hermione stood up and crossed the room to stand beside Severus. "It's true," she said flatly. "You've all reacted so wonderfully that I can't imagine why we never told you before. No, it's really not a joke."

There was a long silence as everyone exchanged glances, their attitudes ranging from bewildered through shocked to horrified. Severus' expression had turned from contemptuous to something approaching thunderous as his temper frayed; when Hermione felt the first telltale tingles of magic on her skin, she quietly reached for his hand, linking her fingers through his and squeezing gently as she silently warned him to keep himself under control. He squeezed back and she felt the sense of magic recede a little, but the anger still radiated off him.

Finally, he bit out, "Are you all deliberately trying to be insulting, or are you simply stupid?"

"...Neither," Minerva said faintly, apparently mentally shaking herself. "But this is rather –"

"I swear, if you say 'unexpected' or 'unbelievable' I'm going to start hexing people," Hermione snapped. "I did everything but spell out his name over a year ago and neither of us have been trying to hide this, so it shouldn't have been unexpected at all, and as for unbelievable..."

It was Severus' turn to squeeze her hand gently now. "Easy, hellcat," he murmured faintly, as she took a breath and tried to stay calm.

After another long silence, Minerva actually laughed; the sound was more disbelieving than anything else, but it was still remarkably unexpected. "Oh, stop glaring at me, Severus. I haven't seen you look so defensive since your second year when you were trying to pretend that it wasn't you who had been gradually pushing my desk back all lesson."

If anything, her tone had made him tenser than he had been before, but his voice was marginally less hostile as he replied carefully, "That honestly wasn't me – at least, not just me. I don't know who started it but we were all taking turns."

Very slowly, Hermione dared to relax a little, as the Headmistress raised her eyebrows and eyed the younger man who had at one time briefly been her employer; their relationship had always been rather fraught, and by all accounts they had never liked one another since Severus had been an unpopular eleven year old targeted by her favourite Gryffindors. Despite that, they had respected one another up to a point over the years, and she was pretty sure that if Minerva was trying to tease now then she wasn't going to say anything dangerous that might trigger his temper, at least not deliberately... although there was always the risk of accidents, especially with Severus.

"It was you all along?" Filius asked carefully.

"Yes," Severus replied flatly; he looked wary and faintly hunted now, rather than angry, his eyes flicking around the room suspiciously and his hand and arm held in such a way that Hermione knew he could reach his wand in under a second. She suspected he was remembering the two of them and Professor Sprout teaming up on him at the beginning of the Final Battle.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Severus raised one eyebrow, his expression changing to one of faint disdain. "Nobody would have believed it."

"Besides," Hermione added pointedly, "I practically did tell everyone. Three of the Weasleys and Poppy all managed to work it out on their own, and Luna had a hint, and Neville guessed when I was talking to him about something else. Nobody else got it until it was spelled out for them."

"Can you blame us? Without trying to be insulting, it really is rather unbelievable... given your known past history, Severus..." Minerva said very carefully indeed.

To everyone else's surprise – including Hermione to some extent – Severus only looked exasperated. "Not this again. If you mean Lily, she's been dead for thirty years," he growled, sounding thoroughly fed up. "And if you mean the Dark Mark, I assure you, Hermione did in fact already know about it. I believe that covers all the major issues from my past?" he added with a sneer.

"As far as we know," someone muttered – it sounded like Rolanda Hooch, but Hermione couldn't be sure.

Severus rolled his eyes and replied caustically, "Forgive me for not telling the world all my secrets, but it really isn't anyone else's business but mine."

"And Hermione's?"

"No, not really," Hermione herself interjected calmly, "but if there's anything I want to know, I ask, and if Severus feels I need to know something, he tells me. Beyond that, as he said, it's his business." She exhaled. "Look, enough. We've told you now, more out of courtesy than anything else." Well, on her end, at least; she was pretty sure Severus had only done it to cause chaos and wind people up. "We're doing nothing wrong, and even if we were, neither of us intend to stop. I have never unfairly favoured Slytherin just because I'm involved with their Head of House, and I never will. Nothing from Severus' past is remotely relevant to the two of us now or in the future. Now that you all know, all my friends and family have been informed, except for one or two Order members who I never see anyway. We're not setting a bad example for the children. Is that it?"

"...Well, I can't think of anything else," Filius said after a moment, doing his best to sound cheerful. The little wizard looked utterly bewildered, but at the same time he appeared deep in thought; the Ravenclaws did deserve their reputation for intelligence, at least most of the time, and things appeared to be making sense to him now.

Severus snorted quietly, looking amused now as he calmed down, and gave Hermione a wry look; she smiled sheepishly at him as she realised she had just taken over.

"We're going to be discussing certain incidents, Severus Snape," Minerva told him coolly, narrowing her eyes a little. "I can think of at least one occasion when you've lied to me about this."

He was smirking now. "I wasn't lying. I never at any point said that Hermione wasn't in my rooms. I asked you what she would be doing there and I said that I did not entertain guests in my bathroom."

Hermione stifled laughter as best she could, fervently hoping that the Headmistress never learned that she'd been there to witness that incident, and also thinking of a number of 'entertaining' occasions that had taken place in Severus' bathroom. "Sorry, Minerva, but you'll never win this kind of argument with a Slytherin. Neither of us ever explicitly lied about our relationship – perhaps by omission or implication, but we never said anything that wasn't true."

Minerva blinked. "The things you've told us – your ring? Paris?"

Now losing the battle with mirth, she bit back a giggle. "All true," she assured her employer. Severus rolled his eyes again, although he still looked amused.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am human, Minerva. I'm not stupid, either," he added quietly as his smirk faded, glancing sideways at Hermione, "and I know better than to waste a second chance after everything I've been through."

There was another long pause while everyone processed what had just happened. Finally, slowly, Minerva nodded. "This is a lot to take in, all at once, but you're right that you're doing nothing wrong, and I believe that you have both been and will continue to be professional. I'm not sure this makes any sense at all, yet, but once I've had a chance to think I might be able to puzzle it out. In the meantime, you're also right that it's none of our business." After a moment she added crisply, "Although there were perhaps better methods of informing us."

Severus smirked again, and Hermione grinned; personally she rather liked the method he had chosen. "You can't blame us for having a little fun. After all, I did do everything short of getting his name tattooed on my face. I don't know how I could have made it any more obvious without someone actually walking in on us." She managed not to blush as she remembered how close they had come to being caught once or twice, but it was a very close thing; Severus' lips twitched as he presumably thought of the same memories.

"And you can't blame us for not realising," Minerva retorted, starting to smile a little now. "Past issues aside, the fact remains that Severus is an extremely unpleasant individual at times."

"You only think so because I'm a better poker player than you are," Severus replied lazily, his eyes glittering in genuine amusement.

"You only won so often that year because I was distracted, having to deal with that dreadful woman while Albus was absent."

"And I wasn't distracted? Not only did I have to deal with her as well, I was also being Summoned every few days by a reptilian madman," he pointed out dryly. "You just can't bluff to save your life."

"One reason why I never do it, as you should remember," Minerva said, before suddenly looking unsure as though she hadn't really meant to hint at... whatever it was she had just hinted at. Thoroughly lost, Hermione looked at her lover for a clue; he was openly grinning, which was a rare sight at the best of times.

"Did you know she tried to kill me nine times during my term as Headmaster?" he asked conversationally of the room at large. "I know Filius was in on a couple of them, and Pomona. And you had a go once, Poppy," he added, glancing at the mediwitch, who had been silent until now. She had the good grace to blush.

"Really, nine times?" Hermione asked, trying not to smile – not that it was a funny subject, but Severus looked genuinely amused by the discussion.

"Most of them weren't terribly serious. I don't think she was really trying. One or two came uncomfortably close, though. And that's before we look at what the students were doing, isn't it, you two?" he added dryly, turning to look at Neville and Luna. "Only Longbottom would be daft enough to try to poison a Potions Master. You can't possibly have thought it would work."

Neville shrugged sheepishly. "It was worth a try. We hoped you'd underestimate us."

He snorted. "I didn't survive as long as I did by underestimating people." Raising his voice, he drawled, "By the way, Albus, you can stop hiding now. I know you've been listening for at least the last half an hour, you and the other two. I'm blaming you for every single assassination attempt, incidentally."

"How was it his fault?" Minerva asked, as three rather sheepish portraits shuffled into view inside the frame. Phineas was sneering; he was nowhere near as accomplished as Severus, Hermione noticed idly. Dilys was grinning broadly as always, and nodded cheerfully to her. Albus was fidgeting a little, but the ever-present twinkle was as strong as ever, although for once he wasn't smiling.

Severus leaned back against the wall, regarding the Headmaster's portrait through hooded eyes. "Because the stubborn old goat refused to tell any of you what I was really doing and why. Something he still hasn't managed to justify satisfactorily."

"He can't justify it, that's why," Phineas drawled.

"Well, it doesn't really matter now." Severus waved a hand dismissively. "I survived, despite everyone's best efforts, and here I am."

"Here _we _are," Hermione corrected him slightly whimsically. This had been a rather odd but undeniably diverting afternoon.

He inclined his head to her. "Indeed."

"I do want to know one thing, though," Minerva said slowly. "How is it that I didn't know about this beforehand? I am prepared to admit – grudgingly – that we were all in denial to some extent, but..."

Severus fidgeted slightly, and Hermione gave him a puzzled look. She hadn't thought there was any more to it than her Headmistress being too stubborn to see what was staring her in the face, but... "That was probably my fault, at least in part," Severus admitted finally, looking torn between amusement and something almost guilty. "Hogwarts has always responded quite readily to me – even when I was a student, I never had to wait for the stairs to change in my favour, and I seldom encountered anyone in the corridors when I really didn't want to. I think the castle may have picked up on the fact that I did not wish anyone to find out about us until we chose to let them." He coughed apologetically, his eyes glittering.

That wasn't the whole story, of course. The castle was fond of Severus, but not to that extent. It wouldn't lie to the Headmistress – for lack of a better analogy – except at the Headmaster's orders. Hermione doubted that he had ever explicitly asked the castle to help cover things up, but he hadn't needed to; Hogwarts had picked up on it because he and the castle were linked, probably more deeply than even he had realised. _I guess this explains why nobody ever did walk in on us. I can't believe I thought we were just lucky._

Minerva looked rather sour. "I suppose that would explain it. If you could refrain from making the building respond to your every passing whim in future, Severus, I would appreciate it."

"Of course, Headmistress," the Headmaster replied blandly, his eyes sparkling with dark amusement as Hermione bit her lip to hold back laughter. _Sneaky bastard_.

* * *

The next few days following that little 'surprise test' in the staff room proved to be very taxing, at least for Hermione, who found herself facing seemingly endless interrogations. Severus had dealt with things by simply refusing to talk about it to anyone, and had all but stopped appearing in the staff room, but she didn't feel able to follow his example. She was friends with these people and it was natural that they would have questions, after all, so she allowed them the rest of the week to pester her before finally getting fed up and directing them to Luna or Poppy, and Neville to some extent, and retreating to hide in the dungeons. Interestingly, Filius had guessed that Hermione had been the one to add Severus' name to the memorial, and insisted that she demonstrate how she had unravelled the charms around it to do so.

At least they didn't need to worry about the students finding out; personal matters among the staff were never shared with pupils under any circumstances, which was apparently one reason why Severus had become extremely unpopular after he'd told his Slytherins that Remus Lupin was a werewolf. He'd broken an unwritten code of conduct; what he'd actually said took second place.

It helped that the summer term was always busy, too. For the students, the last term of the year was quite slow and leisurely until the exams started; there wasn't much new content in lessons, there was time off for revision and so on. For the teachers, though, there was a lot to do behind the scenes in preparing for the end-of-year tests, making all the arrangements for OWLs and NEWTs, helping to organise the graduation of the seventh-years and so on. Hermione was also involved in the list of new first years who would be arriving in September. Nobody really had much time for gossip, which was just as well.

By the time the term had actually ended, things had calmed down; hopefully by the time the new school year started in the autumn, everyone would have grown used to things. "I suppose it means less sneaking around," Hermione commented as she began coaxing a reluctant Crookshanks into his carrier.

"Are you pleased or disappointed?" Severus drawled, finishing his own packing.

"I don't really know," she admitted with a wry grin. "The sneaking around was quite fun. But if we'd actually been caught, that would have been pretty bad; and I don't think we'll have much time to sneak around next year. At least, I won't."

"How fortunate that you won't have to," he responded. "I've been thinking about next year."

Frowning, Hermione looked up from securely fastening the door of Crookshanks' box. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Until now, of the two of us, I was the one most likely to be sought out of hours by a student. Now that you are Deputy Headmistress, you will probably be more in demand, which means you shouldn't really be hiding in the dungeons."

She thought about this. It was probably true; she really should be where the students could find her in an emergency. "So that means..." she prompted him.

A hint of a smirk crossed his face. "The Deputy Head's quarters are quite luxurious, I seem to recall."

"And when students come looking for the Head of Slytherin?" she asked dryly. He had a point, though – her new job came with some very nice quarters indeed. The two of them didn't need much room, but they could certainly appreciate extra space when they had it. _We'll fill any spare rooms with books, I should think._

"They'll be Slytherins and will have a good idea of where to look," he replied equally dryly, piling their bags on the bed.

"Not always, and even if they are, the dungeons are quite a long way away if it's a real emergency. And there's your lab, too." It wouldn't really work, but at the same time there was no way she was sleeping apart from him. _Maybe we could work out a rota or something._

He nodded solemnly. "Very true. I suppose, under the circumstances, then, it is fortunate that I have certain advantages..." Turning away, he lifted his hands and placed both palms flat against the rough stone of the wall, his eyes narrowing and half-closing in concentration. She watched him quizzically, then shivered abruptly and rubbed her arms as the air changed around them and something _shifted _in some intangible way.

"What did you just do?" she asked when he took his hands off the wall and rubbed them together.

"I made a request," he replied calmly, his eyes dancing as he moved to the door and glanced out into the hallway. Raising an eyebrow, he turned and beckoned to her. Now desperately curious, Hermione followed him and found that there was now an extra door between the one leading to the bathroom and the one that opened onto the stairs down into the lab.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"It's probably not the secret gateway to Narnia," he told her sarcastically, before opening the door with a flourish to reveal the living room that would officially be Hermione's in September – mercifully, Filius had already left, it seemed.

"I know I've said this before, but you are a very clever man," she observed after a moment, snaking an arm around his waist. As an afterthought, she reached out with her free hand to touch the wall and thought, _Thank you._

"I know," Severus agreed with absolutely no trace of modesty.

"This is physically impossible, you realise."

"But not magically impossible."

"Just as well, really."

* * *

The summer holiday came as a blessed relief as far as Hermione was concerned. She spent the first three days of the break in bed, more or less, which Severus certainly wasn't about to argue with; he'd been quite happy with the plan, in fact, which meant she hadn't got as much sleep as she had intended although she did feel nicely relaxed. After some discussion, they had decided to return to Hogwarts for the whole of August; the rest of the staff would begin filtering back towards the end of the month, so they would have a week or two for Hermione to get herself organised (and, she suspected, for Severus to enjoy the fact that they had the entire castle to themselves; she resigned herself to not getting much sleep then, either) before things picked up just before September.

Having idled away the rest of June without a shred of guilt about it, July had arrived blazing hot, a dry, intense heat that was quite unusual for Britain. Severus had been virtually mute for two days, and now Hermione watched him sitting on the caravan steps and smoking edgily and decided it was time to say something. They would be leaving for Hogwarts in a couple of hours, and he was clearly upset about it. Crossing the living room floor, she knelt behind him in the doorway and slid her arms around his neck. "Severus?"

She could feel the tension in him as he turned his head away to exhale a lungful of smoke, before he made an effort to relax and leaned back against her. "I'm all right."

"Are you sure? You really don't have to do this."

Taking another drag on the cigarette, he repeated tonelessly, "I'm all right."

Sighing, she settled closer against his back and rested her chin on his shoulder the way he so often did to her, turning her head to nuzzle gently at the scars on his neck. "No, you're not." Putting her arms around his waist instead of his neck, she felt him shift as he stubbed out the cigarette before his arms settled over hers and he linked his fingers through hers, leaning his head back against her shoulder.

"I'm really not looking forward to this, but I am all right. I don't – I don't like being hated, but I'm certainly used to it by now, and after all this time I know things won't be as bad as I am imagining."

"I'm pretty certain nothing could be as bad as you're imagining," she teased gently, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. "Your general outlook on life makes Schopenhauer look like an optimist at times."

He huffed a soft laugh. "It's usually justified."

"True, but not always. Even you can be wrong sometimes, Slytherin." She kissed the corner of his mouth lightly. "It's time to get ready, anyway. Remember, if it's that bad, we'll leave. Although I really do want to know what on earth those three are planning; Minerva's furious that Albus won't tell her, and Ginny's being unbelievably annoying because she managed to drag it out of Harry."

"Hmm," he replied noncommittally, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet as she stood up. "At least it's not going to involve pink walls in any way."

"Or music?" she teased, and he glared at her.

"Shut up."

* * *

_Next chapter, we finally see just what the senior Order members have been plotting. Nobody's guessed yet! And the chapter after that... will be the epilogue. We're almost at the end._ _  
_


	42. Chapter 42

_Well done to **Frusie, zeldamaddie **and **DZMom**__; your guesses were the closest.__ Random poll: what's your favourite line in this story? Quote favourite bits to me.  
_

* * *

**"I treasure your love  
I never want to lose it  
You've been through the fires of hell  
And I know you've got the ashes to prove it  
I treasure your love  
I want to show you how to use it  
You've been through a lot of pain in the dirt  
And I know you've got the scars to prove it..."**  
– Meat Loaf, 'Rock & Roll Dreams Come Through'.

* * *

It took Hermione a while to get ready, despite her best efforts. The bathroom in the caravan really wasn't big enough to get dressed in, and it had been a long time since she had worn formal dress robes as opposed to just a nice dress. She had taken the easy way out with a plain black dress, and had changed her dress robes to a dark gold edged with chocolate brown. Having wrestled her hair into submission, she was ready at last, and left the bathroom to track down Severus.

He was waiting in the living room, and his appearance was a shock. She had only seen him in formal robes on a handful of occasions in the past, and they had been black just like his usual teaching robes, but tonight he was in deep charcoal grey silk over his black trousers and coat and white shirt, and the clear shimmer of the fabric looked wonderful with his colouring. Not only that, but the robes weren't repressively buttoned up and the neck was low enough to clearly show the snakebite scars on his throat, which was very rare indeed; he did his best to keep the marks hidden in front of anyone except her, usually, but tonight he had even combed his hair back out of the way.

"Well, you look nice," she greeted him after a moment, trying to pretend it wasn't a big deal.

His snort made it clear that she hadn't managed it, as his dark eyes flicked briefly over her figure. "As do you. Shall we get this over with, then?"

"For all you know, it might actually be something good," she scolded gently, smiling as she walked over to him. "Harry has been known to have a good idea every now and then. And this is apparently based on something you said."

"Hmph," was his only response. "Ladies first?"

Nodding, she closed her eyes and concentrated, turning on the spot and Apparating. The Hogwarts gates were wide open; she started walking up the drive without waiting, and heard a sharp _crack _a moment later before he caught up and offered his arm. Smiling at him, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked.

The Great Hall was brightly lit and crowded. The House tables had been removed and replaced with rows of chairs facing the dais where the staff table usually stood; that too was gone and instead there were more chairs and a small table with a box on it that was being carefully guarded by Kingsley. A large portrait frame had been placed on a stand beside the table, and Albus' portrait was twinkling at everyone.

_I think we're late, _Hermione noted, a little dismayed; they weren't _late, _as such, but it was a more public entrance than either of them wanted. She tried to let go of Severus' arm discreetly, but when he looked at her he made it clear that he didn't want her to, and she stopped trying. Slowly people turned to see who was arriving; a rather ominous silence began to spread from the doorway, although it was immediately filled with hushed whispers.

She didn't recognise the voice that hissed, "What's _he _doing here?" but evidently Severus did.

Turning in the direction of the voice, he said crisply, "Come here and look me in the eyes and tell me to my face that I haven't earned the right to be here." There was a brief and uncomfortable pause as everyone avoided his eyes, and he half-smiled rather unpleasantly. "I thought not. Good evening, Mr Potter," he added as Harry pushed his way through the crowd.

"Good evening, Professor – Professors, I should say. I'm glad you both could make it."

"What's all this about, Harry?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

He grinned at her. "All in good time, 'Mione, I promise. There are only a couple more people to show up, then we can get started. Find yourselves some seats." He hurried away before they could ask him anything else.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she muttered, and heard Severus snort quietly in agreement before he steered her towards a couple of empty chairs on the back row. Gradually other people found seats and settled down; listening to the quiet conversation, it became obvious that nobody had a clue what was going on.

* * *

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Harry scrambled onto the platform beside Kingsley and clapped his hands for silence. "Okay, everyone, sorry it's taken so long, but everyone's here now. This is the first full gathering of the entire Order of the Phoenix since... well, since the first Wizarding War, actually, but even then not everyone was there. I'm very pleased everyone's managed to make it here. Before we get started, I'd like us to take a moment and think about the people who aren't here..."

After allowing the silence to go on for a few moments, as the mood in the room turned from excited to slightly more solemn, Harry cleared his throat. "All right, then." He sounded a little sheepish, and Hermione smiled a little; even now, he still hated public speaking. "I guess you're all wondering why you're here, and what we're up to. Well, basically, someone asked a very good question last year; why do the Ministry hold a big do every year, making speeches and giving medals and stuff, when it wasn't anything to do with them?"

Hermione glanced sideways at Severus, and his eyes glittered briefly in amusement as he looked back at her, before Harry continued. "It seems almost... obscene for the top politicians and so on to give us awards for doing what they all tried to stop us doing. None of them fought with us. None of them bled with us. None of them died for us. We are the Order of the Phoenix, and we don't have any affiliation with the Ministry, no matter what they might think." He rubbed his hand briefly, where even now he still bore the scars Umbridge had given him.

"So, Kingsley and I – and Albus – have been working on our own awards. Not the Order of Merlin, which was never intended to be a military medal anyway. With great originality, we decided to call it the Order of the Phoenix."

That brought a ripple of laughter from the crowd, and Harry grinned. "Yeah, it's a good name, a classic in fact – Muggles have a saying, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Anyway, this is something made by us, for us. And the Hogwarts wards are fully in place now; no Ministry, and above all no reporters. Luna's been allowed a camera, so she'll be taking pictures afterwards and the _Quibbler _will run the story, not the _Prophet. _I think we all had enough of them publishing lies about what we were doing. This is real."

Kingsley stepped forward, his deep smooth voice rolling across the hall. "As with the Orders of Merlin, there are three classes of award. This in no way reflects anyone's abilities or performance, only their degree of involvement in the war. You'll see them soon enough, but the medals have a phoenix in flight on one side, and the recipient's name on the other. The metal the medals are made from indicates the class; the ribbon that adorns them is in their House colours if they were Hogwarts students, and white if they were not. The ribbon bears a black stripe for those medals that are presented posthumously."

He turned aside and opened the box on the table beside him, as Harry said quietly, "We begin with the Bronze Phoenix, for those invaluable behind-the-scenes witches and wizards that most of us didn't even know about. They might not have fought on the front lines, but they served well and loyally, and we salute them." Kingsley lifted the first medal out of the box, hanging from a yellow Hufflepuff ribbon, and Harry picked up a list of names from the table and began to read.

There were a lot of names that Hermione didn't recognise on the list, and she didn't know most of those who stood and walked to the front of the room to climb the steps onto the dais and shake Harry's hand as Kingsley gave them their medals. Some of them were familiar, such as poor Colin Creevy, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones, and Harry's Squib neighbour Mrs Figg, and even Mundungus Fletcher, much to many people's surprise. Severus' only comment had been, "He had his uses." Aberforth Dumbledore received a Bronze Phoenix as well, exchanging a long look and a nod with his brother's portrait.

Once the last had received his medal and returned to his seat, Harry said, "Next we have the Silver Phoenix – you can see we put a lot of thought into these names," he added wryly. "The Silver Phoenix is awarded to the first wave of soldiers, the ones who saw plenty of action and in many cases didn't know why, who fought and died out of faith in the Order..."

These names were familiar, as were the faces. Several of the Hogwarts teachers were awarded the Silver Phoenix, including Filius and Poppy; a lot of former students also received silver medals, such as Dean Thomas and Lee Jordan, and other familiar faces including Hagrid. Molly and Arthur Weasley accepted medals not only for themselves but also for Molly's brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, who had died in the first war; Bill, Charlie, George and Percy all received silver as well, and George collected one for Fred. Harry accepted silver medals on behalf of his parents and Sirius – Hermione noticed Severus' eyes tighten slightly, but he said nothing and applauded as he had done the others.

"I'm sure you can guess which medal is next up," Harry began once the silver medals were done.

"Chocolate?" George called, and another soft ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

Grinning, Harry shook his head at his brother-in-law. "With dazzling originality, we now present the Gold Phoenix to the top-level warriors who really made a difference, who did the most dangerous tasks and took the greatest risks – and let's be honest, a lot of the stuff we did was completely insane," he added wryly.

This list too consisted of familiar names, including Hermione's own. Trying not to be too self conscious, she stood up as Severus squeezed her hand before letting go, and walked up to the dais with the others. Ron and Ginny both received gold medals, as did Neville, Luna, Minerva and Kingsley himself. Remus and Tonks were both awarded posthumous gold medals, along with Moody (the blue Ravenclaw and yellow Hufflepuff ribbons stood out; Luna and Tonks were the only non-Gryffindors to be given the Gold Phoenix); so was Albus – Minerva promised to hang his medal on the corner of his portrait's frame.

Hermione could see Severus applauding from his seat, and as she looked down at the beautiful medal she felt a little sad for him. Surely he deserved to be here. As though reading her mind, Albus twinkled from his frame and whispered very softly, "It's not over yet." She looked at him and he nodded towards Harry; puzzled, Hermione followed his look and obeyed as Harry gestured to the Gold Phoenix recipients to take their seats on the stage rather than returning to their chairs down in the hall.

"This next part wasn't entirely my idea," Harry said after the applause had died away, grinning sheepishly and moving to one side as Kingsley reached into the box once more.

Albus Dumbledore's portrait moved to the edge of his frame and he looked out over the crowd. "There is one more medal to be awarded tonight; a very special medal. And no, Mr Weasley, it is not made of chocolate," he added to general laughter. "The Order of the Phoenix is a unique group of witches and wizards; there are no plans to disband our organisation, and there will always be wars of one sort or another. There will always be those who earn Bronze, Silver and Gold Phoenixes. But the previous wizarding war was – hopefully – unique; I certainly hope that nobody else will be in a position to be awarded the Platinum Phoenix."

Kingsley lifted a medal from the box. Hanging from a scarlet ribbon, the metal glittered in the light from the chandeliers, brighter and whiter than silver.

Albus continued quietly in a voice that carried to the far reaches of the Great Hall. "The Platinum Phoenix is awarded to those whose actions determined the entire course of the war. Without their heroism and sacrifice, we would have failed, and none of us would be here now; they saved all our lives. There are only two in existence."

Whispers could be heard all over the hall; _two? Who's the other one for? _Obviously, the medal Kingsley was holding up from its Gryffindor ribbon was for Harry, but... Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she lifted a hand to her mouth, starting to tremble. Then Kingsley reached into the box again and lifted out another platinum medal... hanging from an emerald green ribbon.

"The Order of the Platinum Phoenix," Albus declared in a ringing voice that silenced the whispers, "is hereby awarded to Harry James Potter and Severus Tobias Snape!"

The deafening silence that followed was so intense that Hermione could hear her own heartbeat pounding against her ribs as she stared into the dim shadowy corner where Severus was sitting, almost afraid to breathe in case this turned out to be a dream or a hallucination. She wasn't sure what she was feeling at the moment, so she certainly had no idea how Severus must be feeling. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his dark figure stood up and made his way to the end of the row, slowly walking down the central aisle; the arrhythmic tread of his boots on the flagstones was the only sound in the silence.

His limp was more noticeable under the circumstances, but Hermione wasn't paying attention to that as she watched him approach. His eyes had sought her face as he began the walk down the length of the hall, a hint of uncertainty in their dark depths; she didn't know what her expression showed at the moment, but it had been enough for him to lift his head and square his shoulders and walk with pride. There was no obvious expression on his face, but she knew him well enough to spot that his pupils were dilated and that he was holding himself carefully and deliberately; he had obviously been badly shocked by this. In all honesty she was surprised he had actually come forward; even if he had known this was an awards ceremony he would never have expected anything.

There was something in his fathomless black eyes that she had never seen before as he drew closer; watching him, she reflected that it was the exact antithesis of the dead, resigned, lifeless and numb look that she hated so much. She saw pride sparkling in his eyes, a knowledge of his own worth that she had never been able to put there for longer than a few moments at a time, a self-confidence that had been conspicuously absent. The first tear slid down her cheek as he climbed the stairs to stand beside Harry, staring neutrally out over the crowd, his harsh, gaunt features softening subtly in the way they did just before he smiled; someone handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes absently as she watched him.

Albus broke the silence just before the muttering would have started; if there was one thing the former Headmaster was exceptionally skilled at, it was manipulating a crowd. "We all know Harry's story. He is a hero, the Boy Who Lived, the only one to ever survive the Killing Curse, the boy marked in infancy as Voldemort's equal, the boy destined to defeat Voldemort in this very hall, aged just seventeen, on the second of May, 1998 – thirteen years and sixty one days ago. He faced more danger and more pain than any of us, and he did so with courage and with strength, and none can argue that he won the war.

"All of us helped Harry to reach that point, but none more so than Severus. There were, no doubt, many Death Eaters who regretted their decision and tried to find a way to leave Voldemort's service, but Severus was the only one with the courage to come to the Order of the Phoenix. He changed sides at great personal risk, and to do so he knowingly and willingly sacrificed more than most people can possibly imagine. He did far more than anyone could ever have asked of him. There have been many rumours and doubts about this man; but I tell you now, everything he did from the moment he joined our ranks was aimed at defeating Voldemort. He has always, _always, _been loyal to our cause, and without him we would all have been lost."

Kingsley stepped forward, offering his hand to Harry, who shook it before the older wizard presented him with his medal. Turning to Severus, he held out a hand, and after a moment Severus shook hands with him as well before accepting the medal hanging from its green ribbon – the only green ribbon in the room. He was the only Slytherin in the Order of the Phoenix.

Hermione stood up and started applauding first. For an agonisingly long second it seemed as though it was just her, but Ginny was on her feet a heartbeat later and clapping even as she ran to her husband's side, and then the rest of those on the stage stood and began to clap before the applause spread through the room as a whole. She was relieved to notice that she wasn't the only one crying, either, as she crossed the dais to Severus and the cheering started.

The noise rose to a deafening roar that shook the walls as she hugged him fiercely and felt him hugging her in return, and she heard Kingsley's spell-enhanced voice shout over the din, "Ladies and gentlemen – the Order of the Phoenix!"

Over the uproar, very faint but unmistakeable, came the wondrous music of phoenix song.

* * *

The celebrations had lasted until dawn. In vivid contrast with the stilted official memorial services, those present felt no need to stifle their emotions; there had been laughter, and tears, and something of the atmosphere of a wake in the curious blend of affirming life and acknowledging death. Sorrow and joy had blended as the Order of the Phoenix celebrated what they had achieved and mourned what that had cost, and it seemed only fitting that it take place on the very spot where they had finally won the war.

Neither Hermione nor Severus had spoken as they returned home to find the sun just beginning to rise over the caravan site. They stood side by side on the steps of the van to watch the dawn, holding hands in silence, until she squeezed his fingers and felt his grip tighten in reply. Still silent, they entered the caravan, and a solemn Crookshanks watched them pass without a sound as they went into the bedroom where their relationship had begun three years before.

Their lovemaking too was completely silent, in the end, but certainly no less passionate for that. The only sounds in the room were their breathing and the whispers of skin on skin as they moved together, the hard-won medals discarded in a tangle of clothing on the floor. Neither of them broke eye contact for longer than it took to blink, until finally she had to close her eyes as her back arched in ecstasy and she felt him shudder as they climaxed almost simultaneously. Afterwards he carefully moved off her and curled around behind her, still not speaking, and she nestled back against him as he slid an arm around her and pulled her closer, pressing his face into her hair.

* * *

When she woke, he wasn't there, but she wasn't worried. Unhurriedly she got up and used the bathroom, cleaning up and working the aches out of her body before pulling on her dressing gown. Picking up her discarded robes from the night before, she carefully unpinned her medal and tucked it into her pocket before she went to find Severus.

As she had known he would be, he was sitting on the steps of the caravan, wearing his own dressing gown and gazing down at his medal, held in cupped hands. She sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder, choosing not to say anything about the dried tracks of tears on his face, and after a moment he shifted the medal to one hand and reached between their bodies with the other to find hers. Linking her fingers through his, she squeezed gently.

After a while, he spoke softly. "Did you know?"

"No. I truly had no idea, not until Albus said there were two platinum medals." She squeezed his hand again. "I couldn't be prouder, Severus. You deserve this more than any of us, and my only regret is that it took so long."

Letting go of her hand, he slid his arm around her shoulders, shifting on the step and resting his cheek against her hair. "It's strange," he said quietly. "I always knew or at least suspected that what I did would never be recognised. That wasn't the point of it, and if anyone in the Ministry had tried to give me a shiny medal I'd have spat in their face. But this is..."

"Real," she supplied when he paused. "Like Harry said. It's by us, _for _us."

"Yes." He shivered slightly and she cuddled closer, although she knew he wasn't actually cold. "I've never felt like I belonged, before. I never really felt like a true member of the Order." Suddenly he laughed softly. "It's the final irony."

"What?"

He held up the medal, turning it to catch the light, making it sparkle. "For so many years, I would have given anything for this sort of recognition, or even an acknowledgement. And now that I've got it... It's certainly a nice gesture, and it is as you said, _real, _but... I really don't care very much any more. It's a physical symbol of what we all already knew." He shifted away from her just enough to look down into her face, his eyes smiling. "Watching you collecting your medal and trying not to blush meant more. I got my vindication years ago, from the only person whose opinion matters to me in the slightest."

Determined not to cry again – she'd done enough of that last night – she gave him an innocent look. "Oh? And who would that be?"

He laughed at her, leaning down to kiss her gently. "That, Hermione Jean Granger, would be the stubborn, foolish, temperamental, Gryffindorish, _insufferable know-it-all _who has somehow managed to take over my life and give it some semblance of meaning. And her bloody nuisance of a cat who is currently getting fur all over the back of my dressing gown and purring in my ear," he added dryly.

"You old romantic," she teased gently, returning his kiss. "I suppose you're right, though – if everyone else has finally realised you're a hero, that just means they can be jealous of me, because I already knew." Smiling, she asked impulsively, "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I've been wanting to ask for ages – when did you first realise how you felt about me?"

"Ah." He shifted around on the steps to lean back against the edge of the doorframe, regarding her thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure." Half-smiling, he shook his head. "I realised I _wanted _you very early on... before I even returned to Hogwarts, if I recall. I started to wonder just how deep it went on the Astronomy Tower..."

"Really?"

He nodded. "When you started crying. Usually I would either have pretended not to notice, told you to stop it or simply walked away, but instead I found myself wanting to make you feel better. That was out of character enough for me to start thinking." He paused, looking thoughtfully into the distance, and she felt the urge to reciprocate.

"I took longer to realise. I didn't even admit that I wanted you until that day in the bluebell clearing, and I didn't admit to being in love with you until the night you told me about Dumbledore and the Shack and what happened when you changed sides. After you fell asleep, I stayed awake for a little while to think about what you'd told me, and it just hit me all of a sudden."

Severus smiled a little. "There was no one moment when I realised. I think one of the most significant moments was... our first time, when you kissed the Dark Mark. I don't think you've ever realised just what that meant to me. Nobody wants to acknowledge the Mark; everyone who has known about it has always tried to pretend it wasn't there and treated it as shameful. Nobody touches it or even looks at it unless they have to. And you not only acknowledged it, you made it something... good. Until you did that, I would have stopped it and sent you packing, but I couldn't keep resisting after that. It reassured me that you really did know what you were doing, that you saw the real me and not some fantasy."

"When did you first admit it to yourself properly, then?"

"...That Halloween, after we argued. I don't think you would believe how much it hurt." He looked faintly ashamed of himself. "That realisation was what drove me to come to you and apologise. I couldn't bear the thought of ruining things like that and losing my second chance. I was terrified, in fact."

She rested her hand on his knee, squeezing gently. "I'm glad you did come to me. It hurt me, too, but I didn't know how to fix it. I just had to hope that you did." Smiling suddenly, she asked, "So what made you finally decide to say it?"

He grinned and relaxed, finding her hand and twining his fingers through hers once more. "Nothing important, really; I wasn't thinking about our fun little trip to my parents' graves or anything of the sort. I just decided to stop being stupid and making such a fuss over one little word... although I have to admit that I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't absolutely certain that you already knew and strongly suspected that it was reciprocated."

"'Strongly suspected', indeed," she huffed at him, grinning. "I'd have said it months before, except I wasn't sure how you would react. Or if you'd believe me," she added tartly, and he had the grace to look away.

"I... probably wouldn't have believed you, no," he admitted quietly, "purely because I wanted it to be true so desperately. I learned a very long time ago that I never get what I want." He added after a moment in a dry tone, "You may perhaps have noticed that I am not the most trusting individual."

"Gosh, really?" Hermione replied, straight-faced, and saw the gleam of amusement in his eyes. "You don't say." Shaking her head, she smiled at him. "Well, it doesn't really matter how long it took us to get here. It's the destination that counts – God, I sound like a Zen Buddhist or something."

He laughed softly and shifted closer, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. "That does sound unbelievably corny, yes – but that doesn't necessarily make it wrong."

Fidgeting as she attempted to snuggle closer still, she finally scrambled to her knees and settled herself in his lap, and he wound his arms around her waist with a complete lack of concern for the fact that they were in full view of anyone walking past, resting his cheek against her hair with a contented sigh as she nuzzled her face into his neck and breathed in the smell of his skin. "So, what now?" she asked softly against his scarred throat.

She could hear his smile in his voice. "We use this to our advantage, of course. It's going to be much easier to reform society with such helpful publicity behind us. Our plans just became far more achievable."

"A Slytherin to the end," she murmured, grinning; he was right. They had just been saved a considerable amount of the inevitable arguments that lay ahead. "You're still with me, then?"

"Was there ever any doubt?" he replied teasingly. "I was with you long before we were together. I'd have done it just to annoy everyone even if I didn't think you were right."

"Of course you would. Bastard." Hermione fell silent for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun and of his body, listening to his breathing. "Don't ever leave me, Severus," she murmured finally, a little sleepily.

Caught off guard, he laughed softly, a little startled. "Now, where did _that _come from?" he asked, kissing the top of her head. "Silly girl. Don't you know me at all? Don't you remember what's written on the ring you gave me? I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

She knew that, of course; she hadn't really been serious. It just felt like something that needed to be said, to get it out of the way so that they didn't have to worry about it again. From the way Severus had replied, he knew it as well; they could read one another very well indeed by now. Snuggling closer, she smiled, closing her eyes in the sun. "Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

_I did warn you at the start that this might not split into chapters very well, so we've been left with a short chapter this time.__  
_


	43. Chapter 43

_**Final Author's Note: **Is it bad that I'm quite pleased that I made so many people cry? Anyway, my friends, this is it, the end of this story. I want to thank all of you for the overwhelming response I've had; you don't know what it means to me to read all your comments about my work and to see how many people really enjoy it. This is the end of this story, but it's not the last you've seen of me; I have plenty of other Severus/Hermione stories on the way and I hope to start uploading a new fic within a few weeks. Once again, thank you all so much, and just remember when you watch Deathly Hallows Part Two that Severus isn't really dead and the epilogue is a poison-induced hallucination!  
_

* * *

**"Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity."**  
– Henry Van Dyke.

* * *

_THE TRUTH PUBLISHED AT LAST?_

_Surprising Literary Collaboration Relating the Truth of the War?_

_A new book is to be published, purporting to tell the full story of the war against Voldemort from the point of view of those who were there. Many members of the Order of the Phoenix have contributed – including Harry Potter (42) and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore – but the book itself was co-written by Hermione Granger (43), currently Deputy Headmistress and Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Severus Snape (63), Head of Slytherin House and Potions professor. This unlikely partnership, consisting of one of the highest standing Order members and a notorious former Death Eater, does at least promise to provide answers to some of the hundreds of questions that the official accounts of the war have left unanswered._

_The book is titled 'The Wars of the Phoenix: The Rise and Fall of Voldemort'; it is due to be published at the beginning of next month, and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall (98) has stated that it will be required reading for every first-year Hogwarts student. _

_Professor Granger was not available for comment, and it seems that none of our reporters were brave enough to try and find Professor Snape, who is still somewhat reluctant to speak to the _Prophet _despite our best efforts and has an unfortunate tendency to express this reluctance rather emphatically. Professor Luna Lovegood (40), Head of Ravenclaw House and Charms teacher at Hogwarts, member of the Order of the Phoenix and also editor of the publication _The Quibbler _magazine, tells us that when the book is published she will be interviewing the authors exclusively._

_We were unable to obtain an official statement, but Harry Potter has provided us with the following excerpt from the introduction, where Professors Snape and Granger explain their reasons for writing this book and offer some tantalising hints of the contents:_

_'For some years following the war, there was no official account given, only what the Ministry knew (which truthfully wasn't much) and what individual members of the Order felt able to relate publicly. Many of us were rather traumatised and reluctant to speak of what we went through and why. In hindsight, this was a mistake; when Professor Snape returned to teaching at Hogwarts we discovered that many of the current students were alarmingly ignorant of just what happened even though the events took place within their lifetimes._

_'The decision was made to drastically overhaul the teaching of History of Magic to incorporate accounts of the war from several willing members of the Order of the Phoenix, and a short booklet was published from the Ministry of Magic based on our testimonies. This helped, but the two of us decided that a full disclosure was needed, and began planning this book._

_'It has taken many years to put it all together in as unbiased and accurate a way as possible. Many of the events described are distressing, but all are truthful and we feel that it is necessary to relate them. The truth of the war was ugly and painful, and this book shows that, without going into the gory details merely for shock value._

_'The first part of the book deals with the rise of Voldemort, born Tom Marvolo Riddle, descended from Salazar Slytherin's heir and a Muggle family. It also tells of the prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney, of the seven Horcruxes he made, and the unintentional eighth. This information comes mainly from Albus Dumbledore, who spent some years researching Riddle's life and obtaining memories from many people. Those memories still exist and have been personally viewed by both of us, and are in the keeping of Harry Potter._

_'The second part of the book speaks of the development of the Death Eaters, of how their organisation came to be, and relates how Voldemort recruited and interacted with his followers. How the Dark Mark was invented and used, what exactly happened among the Death Eaters, and as much as is known of the reasons that the most famous – or infamous – of them turned to Voldemort and their actions. This includes the defection of Barty Crouch Junior, who later infiltrated Hogwarts, the Lestranges' horrific torture of the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew's betrayal of James and Lily Potter and his framing of Sirius Black, and the story of the Malfoy family. _

_'Severus Snape has written much of this material himself, and also reveals some of his own story, of why he became a Death Eater and why he changed sides, and how he managed to successfully betray Voldemort – the only one ever to do so – as well as what he endured as a spy. We hope that this will finally put an end to the speculation and clear his name._

_'The third part of the book covers the creation of the Order of the Phoenix, as told to us by Albus Dumbledore's portrait, with information from senior Order members including Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick and Arthur and Molly Weasley. This section covers the events of the first war up until Halloween 1981 and ends with Voldemort's ill-fated attack on The Boy Who Lived._

_'The fourth part of the book speaks of Harry Potter himself, relating much of his early story and the events of his schooldays, including his early encounters with fragments of Voldemort's soul and the tale of Voldemort's return, and describes the events of the war up until the death of Albus Dumbledore, which Severus Snape explains in full at last._

_'The final year of the war is covered from several points of view; Hermione Granger tells the story of how she, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley roamed the country, tracking down and destroying the remaining Horcruxes, before Harry Potter explains the events of the Final Battle. Severus Snape speaks of his time as Headmaster, of what he was forced to do by Voldemort and of what he managed to achieve behind the scenes despite nobody knowing of his true allegiance, ending with Voldemort's apparently successful attempt to kill him and how he managed to survive. Albus Dumbledore's portrait explains the tale of the Deathly Hallows, and Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt relate what the Order of the Phoenix were doing during that time, including George Weasley's account of the origins of _Potterwatch_._

_'There are many hard and unpleasant truths revealed in this book, and the writing of it was a long and often painful process. We both feel that the prices we paid in reliving these events were necessary and that it is imperative that future generations of children learn from the events of the past so that they may perhaps be prevented from happening again. Every word in this book is true, and we invite you to journey with us now, keeping an open mind and remembering that things are rarely if ever what they seem to be. It is not an easy road.'_

_The _Prophet _understands that the members of the Order of the Phoenix collectively approved the book before the final manuscript was sent for publication and that they all possess copies of a special edition, but nobody we spoke to is willing to comment before the book is published publicly next month._

_(The Daily Prophet, 2023)_

* * *

_HOGWARTS HEADMISTRESS DIES_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry regret to inform us that Headmistress Minerva McGonagall passed away in her sleep last night aged 106. We understand that the Headmistress was in reasonably good health but that the rigours of the war against Voldemort appear to have shortened her life expectancy. Her passing has been declared by Healers to be the result of natural causes and details of the funeral arrangements will be announced next week._

_Minerva McGonagall was born in 1925 and attended Hogwarts from 1937 until 1944, a period that encompassed the Muggle Second World War. After graduation she joined the Order of the Phoenix and attained a Mastery in Transfiguration, and when Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster she returned to Hogwarts and replaced him as Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House in 1956. She became Deputy Headmistress in the 1960s. Upon Albus Dumbledore's death in 1997 she became the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and she succeeded Professor Severus Snape (71) as Head of Hogwarts in 1998; following the end of the war against Voldemort (now commonly known as the War of the Phoenix following publication of the book of the same name) she was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and was later given the Gold Phoenix. She will be sadly missed._

_Her passing has led to a number of changes to the Hogwarts staff. Nothing is official yet, and all changes must be ratified by both the Ministry and the Board of Governors following the funeral, but we are told that Deputy Headmistress Hermione Granger (51) will succeed her as Head of Hogwarts. The new deputy is almost certain to be Charms professor Luna Lovegood (49), who will hand over her duties as Head of Ravenclaw House to Astronomy professor Aurora Sinistra (87). Professor Granger's accession to Headmistress presumably leaves a vacancy on staff for the position of Muggle Studies teacher; more details are sure to follow._

_(The Daily Prophet, 2031)_

* * *

Hermione stood on the walltops and looked out over the Hogwarts grounds, her hands resting lightly on the worn stone of the castle battlements. It was a calm, clear night, and the moonlight caught her otter ring, glittering on her wedding finger; it wasn't technically a wedding ring, since she and Severus never had officially bothered to get married, but both of them had moved their rings to their left ring fingers a few years ago, after she had accidentally revealed their relationship to the entire Order of the Phoenix by forgetting herself and kissing him in front of everyone at their annual summer gathering. Admittedly, all their friends had known for years before, but he could still embarrass her by reminding her of the incident even after all this time.

She heard footsteps behind her and smiled; she'd felt him coming a few moments before. He had helped her to grow accustomed to sensing presences within Hogwarts by in effect challenging her to the most insane game of hide and seek she had ever participated in, over several days during the Easter holidays after Minerva's passing, and she was attuned to him more than any other person in the castle. Now she turned eagerly to watch him walking towards her; he still wasn't handsome, he was still too thin and he still had slightly greasy hair and crooked teeth and an oversized hooked nose and too many scars and he still walked with a slight limp, but even after all this time, her heart still skipped when she saw him.

Severus was almost eighty now, but he certainly didn't look it. His limp was a little worse in the winters, and his reading glasses had progressed from occasional to permanent, but he was remarkably unchanged from the man she had bumped into in Waterloo Station nearly thirty years ago. There were a few more lines at the corners of his eyes, and his thick black hair was slowly but steadily turning a distinguished silvery iron-grey that she personally thought looked wonderful, but overall he was showing very few signs of ageing. So was she, so her friends claimed; considering that her sixtieth birthday was only a week away, Hermione conceded that she too was ageing slowly. A few lines on her face, and her hair was beginning to turn white at the temples, but that was about it.

She always joked that love kept them young; Severus always smiled when she said it and told her that it was far more likely to be sheer stubborn bloody-mindedness. His black eyes were as keen as ever as they softened into his usual almost-smile on seeing her; smiling back at him, she turned back to the walltops and her contemplation of the grounds. He moved up behind her with all his old grace, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder – a habit he had never lost – and she leaned back against him contentedly.

They didn't need to worry about being seen; their relationship was Hogwarts' worst-kept secret – or, looking at it another way, the best-kept secret. Certainly the students all knew, but if any of them had told their parents, the story had gone no further; the wizarding world as a whole still remained blissfully ignorant. Not that it would have mattered if the story went public; these days, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape were both known as war heroes, teachers and successful authors, and few people would have batted an eyelash. The secrecy was more habit than anything else now.

Every student learned by the end of their first week that the Headmistress and the Head of Slytherin were lovers; that could have caused a lot of problems, except that the older students took care to assure their younger housemates that it didn't make any difference. There was no favouritism – to the dismay of more than one ambitious young Slytherin over the years – and no question of bias; both teachers were available when they were needed and both acted in the best interests of the students they were responsible for, even if that brought them into conflict with one another, as it occasionally did. Enough of the older students approved that they could suppress any discontent among the younger pupils, and the rest of the staff were known to be very harsh with anyone caught complaining or gossiping. The system worked.

Severus nuzzled her neck, his breath warm on her ear as he murmured softly, "Is there a reason you are out here, Headmistress, instead of in bed?"

Leaning back against his chest, Hermione smiled, resting her arms on top of his at her waist and linking her fingers through his. "I was just thinking, that's all."

"That's a dangerous habit," he observed quietly. "What were you thinking about?"

"All sorts of things... you, the school, life in general."

"In that order, I would hope."

"Did you come up here just to get your ego stroked?"

"No, I came up here to drag you back to my lair," he growled playfully, smiling and resting his cheek against hers. "I actually came to remind you that you're meeting with the school board tomorrow and shouldn't stay up too late."

"That's a little hypocritical, Severus," she scolded him gently. "You're usually the one who keeps me up late." In that regard, too, age seemed to be immaterial – their mutual passion was as strong as ever and he was still more than capable of spending most of a night wearing them both out if given half a chance.

"And yet, you still don't argue," he retorted affectionately, tightening his arms around her.

Knowing better than to give him the satisfaction of trying to respond to that, she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her eyes lazily following the curve of the drive down through the trees towards the distant gates. Life had been good to them, she reflected. The most dangerous time had been when Harry's firstborn had started at Hogwarts, followed over the next few years by his sister and by the children of their other friends; she had been very worried about Severus during that time because she knew that no matter his intentions, he would not be able to look past the history, especially since James was identical to his namesake and Lily almost so.

In fact, Severus had surpassed her wildest hopes by managing to almost completely ignore them all. He had never had much contact with the children anyway – there was certainly no chance of his ever becoming Uncle Severus the way she had become Aunt Hermione – so at least they weren't expecting it; adjusting to her lessons had been something of a shock to them until they each realised that while they were at school they were just ordinary students. They had no such expectations with Severus, but she had made sure they all knew enough history to realise that their Potions master wasn't going to be friendly and they shouldn't take it personally.

Those years had been very uncomfortable, but not as unpleasant as they could have been. Admittedly she and Severus had had some memorable fights – his levels of stress had been almost high enough to rival the war, and she was still the only real outlet he had – but he had always managed to draw the line and stick to it. They had come through the rockiest time, and once the last of them had graduated and they had at least a decade before having to deal with the next generation, things had calmed and their relationship had grown stronger than ever.

Not only theirs, either, she reflected with a wry smile; they weren't the only couple among the staff now. Luna and Neville had caught everyone by surprise; even Severus hadn't quite spotted that one ahead of time, although he had still been the first one to work it out, well in advance of everyone else. He had been quite smug about it, too, she recalled, and had gleefully proceeded to embarrass Neville more or less constantly for weeks until she finally managed to persuade him to leave them alone.

There had been other painful times too, of course, in particular the loss of Crookshanks a few years ago – even half-Kneazles didn't live for ever. He had been very old even for a pure Kneazle, but his death had been painless, and his ashes rested in an urn in their quarters; there was no question of replacing him. She still missed him, and so did Severus, although he seldom admitted it – even now, he didn't talk about his feelings much. Given that she usually knew what he was thinking anyway, there was no real need.

And there would be more painful times ahead, because that was life. Her parents were well into their eighties now, long since retired and now living in England once more, down in the New Forest; she and Severus visited a few times a year, but it was hard to watch her parents ageing, knowing that sooner or later she had to lose them. It was also at the back of her mind that eventually she would lose Severus, as well, but she rarely thought about it – barring accidents, they still had many decades ahead of them. That thought made her smile now, as she relaxed into his embrace and he nuzzled at her neck.

"You're thinking very hard," he murmured, with the faintest hint of a question in his voice.

"Mm," she agreed, turning her head to smile at him.

"Happy thoughts?"

"Mostly, yes." Turning in the circle of his arms, she wound her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, listening to the familiar steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Just thinking about everything we've survived." She laughed softly. "I don't think anyone expected us to last this long. I know I never dared to be that optimistic."

His answering laugh rumbled in his chest. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Hermione. I never had any intention of going anywhere. I don't do things lightly. When I commit to someone, it's for ever. Save for the occasional moment of stupid temper, anyway," he added as an afterthought.

"Once you stop being stubborn long enough to make the commitment, yes," she agreed, tilting her head back to smile up at him. "But you know what I meant. You're just being awkward as usual."

"True." He smiled at her with no trace of apology. "Yes, I do know what you meant. We've certainly come a long way."

"I never thought I'd be standing here," she commented, turning to gesture vaguely towards the castle. "It still seems insane. Me, Headmistress."

Severus snorted quietly. "I don't know, I think it was always rather inevitable, really. I think Minerva and Albus had their eyes on you as potential staff material from about half way through your second year. You would have been Head Girl without a doubt had your final year been normal, and I'll wager the whole school budget that the only reason Minerva didn't poach you immediately after your NEWTs was that she wanted to give you a chance to recover from the war first. You always did stand out, Hermione, in more ways than one."

"As an insufferable know-it-all?" she teased, knowing better than to acknowledge the compliment. This too was a long-established habit – Severus would occasionally allow himself to do or say something very sweet, and she was permitted to enjoy it as long as she didn't draw attention to it.

"There are worse things to be remembered for," he observed, and she smiled, remembering a time when those words would have been coloured with bitterness and self-loathing. Almost all his psychological scars had healed over the years – more or less, at least.

"I never thought I'd be standing here with _you_, either."

"I have to admit I never imagined it," he drawled with soft irony in his voice, his eyes glittering with faint amusement as he looked at her. "We are not exactly conventional soul mates."

"Neither of us have ever been remotely conventional in anything," she pointed out, resting a hand on his chest and leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Unconventional soul mates have more fun, I've decided."

"Indeed." He returned her kiss lightly before stepping away, his hand trailing lightly down her arm until he twined his fingers through hers. "Come; it's late. No rest for the wicked."

"Is that a promise, Severus?" she asked archly.

He smiled slowly. "Ah, Hermione, I promised you everything a long time ago." Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles gently before turning away; taking a last look over the Hogwarts grounds, she followed him inside, smiling.

* * *

_**fin.**  
_


End file.
